Breaking Through
by Shinjiteru
Summary: When Magnus doesn't include the trading clause in Jace's contract, Alec goes along with the rest of them to the Seelie Court. They say the Faerie are a vicious folk- Alec is about to find out why. Malec. CoA-CoG AU.
1. Prologue: Freedom

This story takes place in the middle of CoA. It has Malec and UILUI (Unresolved 'I Love You' Issues). It disregards all of our fangirlish fantasies of 'what had happened' when Alec and Magnus were left to their own devices while the rest of the main cast went to the Seelie Court. It's also extremely long.

Beware.

* * *

_**Breaking Through (and Coming Back to)**  
_

_Soft about the moss the wild fern uncurls  
ever so gently where a rabbit is born,__  
king of nervous things__._

_If the smell of rain in the crisp fall air made you cry and remember things,  
those things you remembered, that is my name  
I am the rabbit._

_If he kept you a prize on his lap, if he crushed your ribs with his weird love,  
if you cried at night in your cage, then you know my name_

_I am the rabbit._

_If you were hunted but walked into meadows to feel the blue of the sky at the price of your life,__  
then you know my name  
I am the rabbit._

_If you make love with one eye on every leaf that moves,__  
then you know my name  
I am the rabbit._

_If you need a thousand years of peace before you will ever trust this world again,  
then you know my name_

_I am the rabbit._

"I Am The Rabbit"- Joseph Pintauro

**Prologue**

**Freedom**

"A moment," the Queen's voice echoes in the dark chamber. "One of you must remain."

Alec shoots a glance at Simon. If anyone had been foolish enough to touch what the fey had offered, trust it to be the mundane. But Simon just looks around, eyes wide and darting about behind thick lenses, lips thin and knuckles white. Narrowing his eyes, Alec quickly sweeps the room. There is only one exit, the same they had used to enter the Queen's chambers. It isn't ideal, it isn't even 'good' or 'enough', but he can work with that. They can still get out three instead of none.

A pained gasp sets off the alarm in Alec's brain, his muscles tensing as the worry wails and drowns his thoughts in an _izzyizzyizzyizzyizzy _tide. He can feel his heart speeding, sweat gathering where his hands have gripped his bow. His head snaps instinctively to the left, where Izzy always stands, where she stood with Meliorn moments ago. She's still there and breathing, like he should. She sends him a puzzled look, equally concerned. Alec lets go of his bow and looks around to find the actual source of distress, nerves still strained. He locates Clary ten feet from the Queen, her hands spread against the air as if it's solid. She's pressing her shoulder forward, pushing hard enough to turn her face red- yet it seems to have little to no effect at all. She can't get past the invisible barrier.

"But I didn't drink anything," she protests. "I swear!"

"Faeries don't lie," Alec murmurs, confused. He doubts Clary is stupid enough to ignore all the warnings she's been given. As she struggles to free herself of the barrier around her, it becomes apparent she somehow did.

_At least it's not Izzy_, he thinks, almost without remorse.

"My Lady, you must be mistaken," Alec tries, hoping she is, but doubting the very notion.

"Clary didn't drink anything," Isabelle objects, her voice rising with each word. Simon trembles with rage by her side, eyes trained on Clary, fear clear on his face.

"Oh, but she did," says the Queen, a smile slowly spreading across her lips. "She tasted the rose tea we offered you upon your arrival."

"You're lyi-" Simon's mouth shuts against his will as a faerie blows dust in his face. It sticks to his skin and glows. One of the sprites giggles, its thin voice like a bell chime. It conjures memories of home, of dawn and stargazing and his mother singing him to sleep. _Liar, liar, pants on fire!_ The sprite whispers; as the laughter spreads throughout the chamber, so does the chant. The sound thrums through the walls. It feels like a thundercloud above his head. None of them can move, paralyzed by the sound, as Clary's clothes suddenly catch on fire, the flames stubbornly fighting the wetness of her jeans.

Clary's horrified scream invokes another chorus of laughter. The Queen snaps her fingers and the chamber immediately stills- all the faeries suspended midair, their mouths still open, faces and hands frozen. The only sound is that of fire eating away denim.

"Children," the Queen tuts, eyeing her court sternly. "Manners." With another snap of her fingers, the flame dies and the faeries are released. Clary collapses to the floor before anyone has the chance to catch her. In seconds, Simon kneels by her side, a protective arm around her waist, murmuring soft nothings in her ears. Izzy appears just as fast, her expression stone-hard and furious, one hand on Clary's shoulder, the other on her whip. She's about to do something Alec's going to regret. He can feel in in his bones.

"How dare you attack a Shadowhunter in your court?" Izzy demands. "How dare you?" Alec can hear the implied _you bitch_. He thinks the Queen can, too.

The Queen waves her hand dismissively, her nails like talons, her voice a cold hiss. "A child's play, Nephilim." Izzy grits her teeth. "My courtiers meant no harm."

"I think they did," Simon snaps, voice hoarse and pitchy from the faerie dust. "They set my girlfriend _on fire_."

"Oh, please."

Alec sees Izzy flexing her whip-arm, her delicate fingers twitching. He steps in front of her before she has the chance to lash out physically and kill them all in the crossfire. One of the sprites gives him a cocky grin. It twirls and its hair turns to flames. Another faerie juggles with Snapbarries. They explode into a fiery mess as they leave her hands to meet the cool air of the chamber. One explodes by his left foot. Alec steps on it. The fire quickly dies out.

Alec's voice is forcefully level when he says, "It is unkind of you to insult your guests."

"Insult you?" the Queen tilts her head slightly, a curious bird watching. Her eyes are black and inhuman, and there's a laugh lingering in the corner of her lips. "It is you, little Shadowhunters, who have insulted me with accusations of deceit."

"The accusation is well grounded, My Queen." Alec's tone is hard and cutting.

"Stop it!" Clary's demand barely registers. "She'll set you on fire too and then what'd we do?"

"Kick her scrawny, sparkly little ass, that's what." Izzy mutters, but her voice carries, loud in the underground cavern. The Queen's head snaps to Izzy, a snarl painted on her delicate features, the smile whisked away. Her wings unfurl.

"Your own foolishness, Shadowhunters- it, and it alone-has brought such fate upon you," The Seelie Queen says, voice flat.

"It is no reason to attack us," Alec narrows his eyes until the world is made of dark shapes and the occasional bright spot. "You cannot attack Shadowhunters; we're upholders of the law, sons of the Angel-"

The Queen's face twists and morphs, her mouth reshaping into a vicious curl, a razor sharp promise and an indication of a mistake. Alec snaps his mouth shut on cue, but it's too late, for him and for them.

"The Fair folk have of the Angel as you do," she says, calm and collected, her voice low and dangerous like the first lightning of a massive thunderstorm. Izzy snorts her disbelief behind Alec's back. The Queen's eyes narrow and her lips purse into a crooked, cruel line, ready to bear teeth once again. Her hand lifts towards Izzy, composure lost.

"You have of the demon as well. More, actually," Alec snarls back at her, blocking the Queen from reaching his sister with his body. "Lower your hand, My Queen, and none shall be harmed".

"You are arrogant, Alexander, and with so little reason for it," the Queen tells him. He doesn't care what she thinks of him though. It's a first he'd like to cherish.

He gives her a level look and demands, "I believe you owe us an apology before we leave. Before all _four_ of us leave."

"That's rich," the Queen snaps. "You are not old, known or powerful enough to have demands of me, boy." She straightens, out of her throne in one fluid movement, eyes blazing and fingers bent like broken twigs. With another clear, loud snap, Alec crumbles to the floor, his whole body burning. Izzy goes down with him, hands trailing over his back, screaming something at the Queen, or at him; he can't concentrate on anything besides the pain. Alec doesn't know how a razor upon a burn feels, but he can bet his life that it feels like this.

"Here's your freedom," Alec hears the Queen's voice clear in his head. "I hope to never see you again."

x

A superficial check shows Alec's just fine. Besides scraped knees and a few scratches to his cheeks, the Queen hasn't managed to do more than give him a slight concussion.

"Are you sure you're alright though?" Clary asks him again. Alec groans a barely decipherable reply. "I think we should get you checked. Maybe she cursed you or something."

"Curses show up either immediately after being cast or forty-eight hours later. If there's nothing showing now, we'll have to wait," Izzy explains after Alec almost blurts 'are you stupid?'.

"Can faeries curse people?" Simon asks, his voice still high and distorted from the dust. "I thought that was the witches' gig."

"Faeries can do almost anything," Alec informs him curtly but withholds the 'are you stupid?' at the tip of his tongue of his own accord.

"They can't take a joke," Izzy mutters surly.

"Or get drunk."

"Or french."

Alec coughs. Clary pats his back sympathetically, muttering about doctors and concussions; Alec inches away from her hand. Izzy attempts to hide her face in her hands.

"I hope you're concussed," she murmurs, voice slightly muffled. "Maybe you'll forget I ever said that."

Alec gives her a doubting look. She sighs in defeat. "Don't kill him before I get a second, _thorough _check of the frenching business," she warns before stalking away to bid her farewell to Meliorn. Alec would- and wants to, badly- but he has neither the strength required to lift his bow nor enough patience to deal with the consequences of a Downworlder murder.

Clary asks him what's up with his face, and does he feel worse- he looks it- should she call a doctor, shouldn't he go home? Alec grinds out something he wants to hope wasn't terribly offensive and steps aside, closer to the woods. He leans against a random tree some twenty feet off the Turtle Pond, far enough so he won't hear Clary or feel her eyes on his back. The woods are quiet, the ground cold. He doesn't have to try to fall asleep here, just close his eyes and lean further back. He lets his breath slow, relaxes his muscles and tries not to think.

Alec doesn't get to meditate long. He can recognize the rhythm of Izzy's stride even on the slippery mud. He opens his eyes to glare up at her through wet strands of black hair. She gives him an unimpressed look. "So, what's with the suicidal tendencies?"

"What's with the faerie boyfriend?"

"I have three answers to that: one involves your warlock, another is a rude word you probably don't know, and the last is 'you are deflecting, and it ain't working'. Which do you want?"

"I am not deflecting," Alec objects. "The Queen wouldn't have killed me. She'd be sentenced for killing a Shadowhunter."

"Because fairies are famous for being intimidated by the law. Especially our law." Alec blinks, confused by the implication because they _should_ and _don't they?_ Izzy waves her hands in exasperation. Alec shrugs. He lifts himself slowly off the ground, his limbs aching and his balance somewhat off. Izzy quickly fits herself under his arm. "We should get Clary back home," Alec tells her. "She looks beat." They take a few careful steps towards Simon and Clary.

Izzy rolls her eyes. "She's not the one who can't walk on her own."

"I can walk."

"Oh yeah?" Izzy swiftly slips from under him. Alec sways a little before crushing into the mud. He doesn't have to look up to know the exact angle of the cocky grin spreading across his sister's face. Her laugh echoes in the dark woods.

"You alright?" Simon calls to him, concerned.

"Peachy."

x

The walk towards Luke's place is a quiet one. It's a chilly night, even the slightest breeze raising goosebumps. They trudge through the empty city streets unnoticed. Alec briefly wonders where are the park faeries, the alley vamps and the wandering weres, but he's too tired to dwell into it. The streets are silent without the mayhem of creatures buzzing in the air or crawling by the walls.

"Death warmed over?" Simon matches Alec's pace as they near Luke's, his smile like a curtain ready to drop at the slightest pull. Alec isn't sure he's worth the effort of smiling, even politely, but he tries anyway. It must come closer to a grimace but it seems Simon's the type to appreciate the thought and ignore the actual result. His smile widens and he steps closer.

"Just dizzy."

"A direct hit from Queen Evil and a six feet drop. I can sympathize," Simon says, voice still high. "Listen, I know you don't like me-"

"What do you need?"

Simon rubs the back of his head sheepishly as they stop near the door. "How did you guess?"

"Max gets the same expression when he wants to sneak out of the Institute and go to Carnegie Hall." Simon reddens. Alec points a finger at his face. "And that's what he looks like when he wants ice-cream after."

"I won't mind ice-cream, but I actually need your help with-"

Clary doesn't seem to mind what Simon wants help with because she unceremoniously butts in, cutting off the longest conversation Alec has had with a mundane, ever. She hugs him tight and promises to call Jace.

"I won't tell him what happened," she assures him. Alec finds it in him to be grateful after three deep breaths and his _she's Jace's sister_ well-rehearsed mantra.

"Call me when you get home!" Clary calls after them. Izzy waves at her before they back into an alley. Their pace is slower now, almost idle enough to be a stroll. They reach the Institute just as the moon hides itself behind a thick blanket of clouds, the night so much darker without it. The street becomes a patchwork of blacks and browns. Alec looks ahead but doesn't see the Institute. The glamour set in place, the sort that doesn't conceal but diverts attention away, is stronger than usual. Alec's too tired and too preoccupied to care. He follows Izzy to the entrance, stumbling on the stairs his eyes skirt away from.

Standing by the great, oak doors, exhaustion suddenly settles in like a heavy weigh on their shoulders. Alec can see Izzy sag slightly on the antique, brass handles. As the doors opens, a rush of cold hits Alec's face.

When he steps past the doors, a fierce wind throws him out. He falls on his back with a painful groan on the second step leading to the entrance. "What the-?"

"I have a bad feeling about this," Izzy tells him as she rushes out of the Institute to crouch by his side. Alec gets up gingerly, carefully edging towards the doors again.

"Really?" he mutters dryly. Reaching out, he feels the familiar wooden frame. It's cool, nonthreatening. Another step forward sends him sprawling onto the floor a second time.

"Alec!"

"I'm fine," he assures his sister. "I think." He doesn't try a third time, though.

"Do you think it's the Queen's doing?"

He doesn't know, but they both suspect. He'd like to say he's too tired to think, too cold and too hurt to confirm anything tonight, to deal with the shit he's brought onto himself. He'd like to say he can't hear Clary saying _Maybe she cursed you or something_ in his head. From the look on Isabelle's face, she can hear it too.

"What else can it be?"

They sit in a contemplative silence on the cold steps leading to the institute. Izzy tries to be covert about it, but Alec can see her inspecting him for injuries, signs of demon possession or a beak. "She probably did curse you. If you can't enter the Institute she must've done something unholy that stuck."

Alec looks at his fingers and can't see claws, or talons, and his skin's not green. He tries to focus on the bright side. Fewer possibilities, just one outcome.

"Real question's not what she's done," were he a braver man, perhaps he'd be interested in finding out. "But how we fix it."

"We have to know what it is first."

"Well." Alec gets up, brushing the dirt off the black hunting uniform with pale, shaking hands. He wants to _move_, to do something that's not _thinking_ about how he's probably screwed up. "We are clearly in over our heads. I vote to go find someone who can help."

"Maybe mom can help."

"If mom finds out I pissed off the Queen of the Seelie Court _she_ will be the one throwing me out of the Institute." Izzy's grim expression matches his.

"Then who?"

"Uh."

Izzy sighs. "C'mon. I know just the guy." She takes him by the arm, confidently strutting ahead. He staggers behind her. "You wanna tell me now or surprise me at the door?"

"You'll know as we get closer. It'll be too far away from here and too late for you to change your mind and hit me."

"You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

Izzy's grin is a sudden white flash in the dimly-lit streets. As they make their way wherever, he shivers, his limbs already numb. He wonders if that's why everything's hazy, unfocused, like he's lost his Precision rune. He can't even tell they're on Magnus' street until they stand in front of his building.

"You're really out of it."

Alec hits her over the head. "Hey!"

"Never too late to hit your conniving, little sister," he tells her with a lopsided grin he has a hard time holding in place. It quickly falls off his face as he's faced with the prospect of _climbing up stairs_.

"Can't you ask him to, I don't know, Zap me up?"

Izzy wiggles her eyebrows. "Oooh."

It takes Alec a moment before he splutters, "I wasn't implying anything!"

"Uh-ha."

"Really."

"_Uh-ha_."

Magnus answers the door in tight black jeans and a lace shirt, a pink comforter thrown over his shoulders. He takes one look at the two of them and opens the door wider. "Lightwoods," he says in a tone of deep foreboding. "What have you gotten yourselves into this time?"

"Jace didn't tell you?"

"Oh, he did. But he got the director's cut and is under the impression you're fine. But since you're here, you're obviously not- I want the Clary Uncensored version."

They step into the living room. Chairman Meow takes one look at them and hides under the sofa. Alec is determined not to take it personally.

Magnus throws a few fluffy towels and clothes on their heads with a "Bathrooms. Now." Neither Lightwood bothers arguing. Exchanging glances, they head to change from their wet clothes with sighs of relief. Isabelle takes the bathroom in the hall, so Alec's stuck with the one in Magnus' bedroom. He tells himself he doesn't notice Magnus has changed the color scheme from moss-green to sky-blue, and that it is _not_ the exact shade of his eyes.

He goes through motions without much thought or feeling, quickly dropping the wet pile of clothes into the laundry basket marked 'Filthy and Ew' and stepping under the spray. The water is scalding, quickly turning his skin lobster red. He stays under the stream until it runs cold. He gets out with a sigh, fishing out a random shirt and a pair of sweats he thinks might actually belong to him- probably forgotten a while ago- from the laundry basket. Pulling the soft cotton shirt over his head, Alec's suddenly grateful for Magnus' height and its surprising benefits.

When Alec gets back, Izzy's already on the sofa with socked feet on the coffee table and a steaming cup in her hands. Magnus sits opposite her, glaring. Alec shoves her feet to the floor as he plops down beside her. Magnus gives him a radiant smile and summons a steaming cup of tea with a snap of his fingers. Their hands brush when Magnus hands over the mug.

"Where's Jace?" Izzy asks. Magnus' smile dims.

"Moping. In his room." He raises his voice and shouts: "Which he won't get out of until he apologizes to Chairman Meow!"

"Bite me!" comes Jace's muffled reply from two doors down the hall.

"What's he done to your cat?" Alec asks.

"He stepped on him while trying to sneak out of the house to follow you two. The poor thing screamed so loud he woke the neighbors."

"Why do I have the feeling you're more upset he woke _you_ up?"

"Because I am."

Alec huffs a laugh. Izzy smiles into her cup. "So, duckies, what've you done and why do you think I am obligated to help you?"

"We should really discuss the 'boyfriend in need' ordeal," Izzy says. Alec elbows her, blushing. There's no point in denying anything to her. Last time he tried she kicked him and demanded details of their first date with the kitchen knife held tightly in one hand.

"_Is_ my boyfriend the one in need or not?" Magnus' eyes heat up Alec's skin further.

"I got cursed."

"We think."

Magnus blinks. "Could've waited a bit with that bomb." His expression shifts as soon as the words leave his mouth, his eyes now clearly looking for signs of explosion. Alec's getting tired of that look.

"I'm fine."

Izzy sniggers, but the sound is bitter. "We tried to enter the Institute and Alec got thrown out."

"What do you mean 'thrown out'?"

"I mean 'goes past the front door and gets blown away by a sudden gust of extremely strong wind'."

Magnus' brows knit together in a frown. "Let's restart. The whole story- from the top."

The story seems to confuse the warlock even further. There's not much to go by, anyway. There aren't any signs of a curse, and if not for the door incident, they wouldn't have suspected anything was out of place. Alec tells Magnus exactly that. He gets a "Don't be stupid, darling " in response.

Magnus gets up and in two steps he's right in front of Alec's face. Before Alec has a chance to protest, Magnus' hand is on the top of his head, tangled in his hair and warm, almost as scalding as the water from the shower had been. Magnus murmurs softly, eyes halfway closed, barely a golden slit visible. Alec can feel heat spreading from his cheeks to his hairline.

"What's wrong with him?" Izzy demands. Magnus doesn't even blink. His lips keep moving, forming words Alec barely hears, and certainly doesn't understand.

A few tense moments later, Magnus lets go of Alec's hair reluctantly, his hand slipping from his hair to his cheek, shoulder, and finally back to Magnus' side.

Magnus trembles as he sits back down.

"So?"

"I don't know." Magnus' expression and voice remain carefully bleak. "Something's different."

"How bad?" Alec asks.

"Not bad," Magnus halts. The pause is unnerving. "Different."

"Will it turn bad?"

"I hope not," Magnus declares vehemently. Alec feels somewhat comforted. "And if it will- I'll do everything in my power to help." Magnus' golden eyes are burning.

"When's the next checkup then?" Izzy asks. "To know if it's really something to be worried about."

"Can you stay here tonight?"

"In case I develop weird, yet somehow predictable, symptoms?"

Magnus' lips twitch. "Is that you agreeing? To staying over, I mean."

"Yeah." Alec feels himself smiling back, if only slightly. "That's me agreeing."

"Good." Their eyes lock. Alec feels himself leaning closer unintentionally.

Izzy coos. Alec's eyes snap to her, as if he's forgotten she's there. Like a scolded child,he shrinks on himself, practically burying himself into the sofa cushions. Magnus gives him a carefully guarded look, but Alec thinks he can still see the hurt behind his eyes.

"As much as I hate to ruin such a romantic sleepover invitation, I'm _really _tired, and since we're-" Magnus' eyes twitch at the pronoun, "-staying here, I'd like a bed." Magnus gives Izzy a dry look and points to the hall.

"Third door on the right."

Izzy stays put, staring at the two of them with a speculative look.

Magnus snaps his fingers menacingly, eyes back on Alec. "Go." She rolls her eyes and skips away, a towel falling from her drying hair to the floor.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" She calls out before slamming the door of her newly appointed room. The sudden noise scares Chairman Meow enough to make his protest audible from his hideout.

"I hope you put an itch spell on her bed," Alec grumbles, the tension vaporizing off of his body with Isabelle's departure.

Magnus chuckles and promptly makes himself comfortable on Alec's side- shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Leaning his chin on Alec's shoulder, his whole body at an angle, he asks, "So, how are you feeling?"

"Alive," Alec replies. Magnus' hair tickles his cheek. "Is there a chance I'd stay that way?"

Magnus nods vigorously into his shoulder. "Of course there is. I highly doubt it's meant to kill you."

"How can you be so sure?"

Magnus' eyes are green and he's smiling a little softly, a little sadly. Alec leans his cheek against Magnus' hair and breathes in the scent of shampoo and magic. "It lacks the usual kind of malice," the warlock clarifies, but his voice wavers. "It feels like-" he pauses. "I don't think it means to hurt you."

_Who else then?_

"She seemed quite angry, though."

"She always is. And you called her a demon. That's a big no-no," Alec briefly wonders under what circumstances Magnus has met the Queen of the Seelie Court and whether he wants to know. Magnus' eyes suggest he steer clear off the topic.

So he huffs and mutters, "She was about to attack Izzy," instead.

"Don't tell Jace you weren't too concerned with his girlfriend's well-being."

"She's his _sister_."

Magnus gives him a sad look and nuzzles his neck. His breath warms Alec's skin, a careful touch that is surprisingly timid, carefully slow in its advance; like a man trying to approach a frightened animal. "It'll be alright," Magnus assures him, and Alec wants nothing more than to believe him. He forces the fear down his throat, dark thoughts exiled and repressed. There's no point worrying over something he can't name, or something he can't change.

They meet halfway, lips and teeth and body heat like a supernova.

x

"That's all you got?" Jace taunts. His fist comes hard and strong, angle precisely calculated. Alec has enough time to dodge it; Jace had always been a fraction too slow. A millisecond's just enough to move left, hook his ankle behind Jace's and bring him tumbling on the mats. Alec doesn't know why, or _how_, but the punch gets him faster than he's expected. He can only thank God they never fight seriously in practice, otherwise his liver would not have survived the blow.

"You alright?" Jace drops on his knees beside him. Alec chokes.

"When did you get so fast?" Alec wheezes at him.

Jace blinks owlishly at him before saying, "I didn't. I was trying to work on the angles. Thought you'd dodge it."

Jace helps him get back on his feet. They take a few steps back and hunch, fists aloft, legs slightly apart; they spring at each other simultaneously. Alec charges in with his right palm flat open, aiming for his opponent's sternum. Jace deflects, slaps Alec's hand to the side and goes in for a low kick. Alec barely escapes the hit. Turning with momentum, Jace aims another kick to Alec's head. When Alec tries to catch it, Jace's foot slips from his grip like water. The blow to his chest is not a strong one, but it ruins Alec's balance. Jace springs like a cat with a hand towards Alec's chin. The edge of his palm gets Alec straight in the jaw, knocking his teeth on his tongue. As Alec goes down, Jace's elbow connects with his upper back. He comes crushing down and soon Jace's weigh settles on his back, pinning him to the ground. Alec can barely breathe. "Gotcha."

"Ungh."

"Say it."

Alec stays silent, head pressed against the blue mat, the taste of blood bitter in his mouth. Jace leans forward and more weigh settles on Alec's upper back. Alec tries to ignore the fact that _Jace is on him_. "I can sit here all day crushing your lungs, you know?"

"I admit defeat," Alec says, determined to let Jace hear the eye roll and not his frantic heartbeat, his scattered thoughts. "O' marvelous one." Jace snickers like the devious three-year old he is, but lets Alec up.

Third time around, it goes much the same. Jace moves fast like lightening, his moves exact and ferocious. Alec doesn't remember ever sparring like this, doesn't remember ever feeling so lethargic and frail. His fists and kicks are too slow, his breathing harsh in his ears, his eyes burning with the effort of following Jace.

He is already falling down when his senses register Jace had his calf hooked behind his. The fall leaves Alec coughing.

"What's up with you today?" Jace asks as he leans down to look at Alec's face. As handsome as Jace is, looking up his nostrils isn't the most flattering of angles. Alec turns his head. He doesn't want to wonder if he sucked because he's tired, cursed or just plain awful compared to Jace. He doesn't want to acknowledge the fact he can safely cross out two.

"I didn't sleep much last night. I'm probably just tired," Alec lies; he's managed to beat up Jace after sleepless nights before. He sits up and ignores his throbbing everything. "We should wrap things up here before Magnus wakes up."

As it turns, Magnus is already awake when they make their way out of the training room. It used to be the attic, but Magnus had been kind enough to convert it into a training hall so Jace could be occasionally silenced. He gives Alec a measured look. "How'd it go?" he asks. Alec tries not to be overly concerned with the fact the first comment out of his mouth doesn't concern 'sweat', 'sex' and 'shower'. He can't avoid analyzing what it might mean.

"Your boyfriend sucks," Jace tells Magnus. "And not in a good way."

Alec's eyes widen and he forgets everything he's ever been worried about because this, this is so much worse. "What?"

Jace gives him a confused look. "What did you say?" Alec repeats.

"'Your boyfriend-'"

"Why would you think that?"

"Yeah, why would you think that?" Magnus echoes, voice brittle like the first snowstorm of the year. His eyes turn darker, impenetrable.

Jace shrugs. "What do you mean?"

"We're not dating," Alec insists. His heart hammers in his chest, fear seizing his throat. "Why would you think- why would you even-"

"Oh? So you're just that friendly with everybody, is that it?" Magnus snaps.

"_Magnus_," Alec can't say anything more than those two syllables, unsure if the damage done is too great, and whether it is worth it. Jace just looks bewildered. Magnus looks away. Crossing his arms, he stares imploringly at the floor, eyes slit and mouth clipped.

Alec stands there and feels like he's stranded somewhere far and foreign, a reality with rules he can't follow.

"What's the big deal?" Jace inquires, concern coloring his voice. "It's not as if I _care_." He looks at Magnus when Alec pales further. "I don't. Really."

Magnus' lips quirk bitterly. "Oh, I think he believes you about that."

Jace just stares at him blankly, comprehension clearly miles away. "So why's it-"

"Do you feel any different?" Magnus cuts Jace off without as much as a blink. His eyes are trained firmly on the floor, unblinking. Alec isn't sure that the question's for him, but he's content with letting the subject drop. He doesn't let himself worry that perhaps the whole curse thing is more serious than defining their relationship. "Your energy's different."

"Just tired," Alec replies, voice soft and apologetic.

Magnus waits.

"Slow." Magnus mentions for him to continue. "I don't know. It's like I'm stuck in slow-motion."

"What do you mean?"

"I couldn't see Jace move." Alec bites his lip. It's difficult to phrase. "When I tried to punch him he'd already moved and I didn't even _see_."

Magnus nods. He turns on Jace like he's an enemy and fires the question like a buller: "What's the score?"

Jace frowns. "Twenty two-four."

Magnus rubs his head and mutters, "Please let me be wrong," before crouching by Alec and lifting up his shirt. Jace whistles before Alec has enough time to gather his wits and blush properly.

"Uh. Um. Why're you doing this in front of Jace?" he manages to croak. Jace seems to be the prominent feature of this equation.

Magnus doesn't bother answering. He has one hand bunched up in Alec's shirt, the other hesitantly reaching up. His touch is feather-light, following some pattern on Alec's ribs only he knows. Alec suppresses a shiver. When Magnus lets go and straightens, Alec feels lightheaded.

"Well, fuck," is all Magnus says.

Jace laughs, but it's hollow. "It's not as if you've never seen that before."

Magnus ignores him. "Go bring Isabelle," he orders instead. "Now."

Jace raises both eyebrows but doesn't argue. He leaves the room in haste.

Alec stares up at Magnus, stumbling onto a stool near the kitchen counter, his legs buckling with sudden, irrational fear of the unknown. "Am I gonna die?"

"You might live shorter than you've expected," Magnus says. Alec's mind blanks. "On the other hand, you may be lucky and live longer than all of your Shadowhunter friends." Magnus doesn't look at him, but Alec can see him shaking. It's a sight far more frightening than a Raum demon, or a giant spider or his father's angry eyes. Alec can't tell if Magnus' sour expression is angry or frightened.

He'd really prefer it to be anger. Fear is something he can barely handle himself, but having someone afraid _for _him, having _Magnus_ afraid _for _him, is unthinkable. So he doesn't think. Really, really hard.

Izzy comes barging in, her face pale, eyes wide, hair plastered to her forehead. She jumps on Alec as soon as she sets eyes on him, her grip tight around his neck. "I'm alright," he says into her hair.

"I know." She lets go, but sticks close. Her eyes quickly latch onto Magnus' form, demanding answers.

"What's wrong with my brother?"

"I believe, and let's all hope I am sorely mistaken," Magnus says, "That Alec's on his way to becoming human."

* * *

A/N: A prologue for a 12 chapter story (of which I currently have nine chapters and around 60K words.)  
Hope you enjoy :)

Excerpt from Chapter Two:

_Jace expects Alec to blush and stare at the floor like it's terribly fascinating. He doesn't- he looks back, and with earnest stubbornness etched all over his features, says 'Thank you' as if Magnus needs it._


	2. 01: Gobles

**01: Gobles**

"And here I thought you'd say he has cancer," Jace's tone is stiff. No one bothers to comment. The silence is thick and suffocating, like the heart of the Turtle Pond where one cannot swim but only drown. When Alec leans back on the stool, there's a warm weigh behind him, and it's not the backrest. As he leans his head back, a warm set of hands settles on his shoulders. Magnus' grip is iron tight, eyes bright in a shadowed face.

"Can I have cancer instead?" Alec asks feebly. Magnus shakes his head but doesn't smile. Alec hopes it means forgiveness.

"Can you do something about-" He makes a vague gesture with his hand, unsure of how to define and form the words. 'Curse' seems too light, a fairy-tale terminology that has little to do with reality. His heart stutters, eyes locked on Magnus' lips forming syllables.

"I don't know."

Izzy grips Alec's left hand like a life line. Alec sags into it.

"Isn't there some kind of spell to counter the curse?" His sister's hopeful tone sends Alec's heart plundering. If there was, he'd be able to breathe. If there was, he wouldn't feel like crying.

"Maybe. I'm not an expert." Magnus runs a hand through his hair, messing the carefully arranged spikes. "It's an intricate ordeal. The Queen-" he says it like an insult. "-somehow managed to suppress the angel in him. Without it he's-"

Alec's heart stops as Magnus' voice trails off.

"So that was the whole abs ordeal?" Jace asks, realization dawning on his face.

"My runes." This time, Alec's the one to lift his shirt. The white, thin scars mar his skin in patches, but Alec can see the edges fading, the complex patterns dulled. Speed is already mostly faded, Agility close on its tail. Alec exhales slowly and drops the shirt back on. He leans back against Magnus and lets himself tremble.

"How long?" Izzy asks.

Alec knows the details don't really matter. However long it is- may it be hours, days or weeks- will be too little, too soon. When Magnus says, "He'll lose most of his runes in a month," he feels as if the earth has opened its mouth beneath him, his heart falling somewhere into the dark abyss.

"And there's nothing you can do?" Izzy demands.

"There's better be something you can do," Jace growls, fists already up.

"Stop it." Alec's voice is quiet, but it seems to be enough to postpone the upcoming scrimmage for a few moments. Both Lightwood siblings whirl on him, surprised. "If there's nothing he can do, there's nothing he can do." And it is the simple realization of helplessness that cuts deeper than a blade to flesh. It is the lack of immediate reassurance from anyone, the missing 'it's gonna be alright' that makes him heavy with dread and shaking with desperation.

"I didn't say that, sweetheart." Magnus' tone isn't exactly hopeful- it's seething, sour and somewhat somber- but it's a tad warmer. He doesn't let go of Alec's shoulders. It makes Alec's heart beat again. "I don't know how to stop the process completely-" Jace gives him a glare. "But I know we can slow it down."

"How?" Izzy exacts.

"Since the curse mucks about with something as fundamental as one's nature, it's slow in progression compared to other types. It won't manage to suppress the Angel's part of his physique for weeks yet." Magnus looks down at Alec. "That's why you can't enter the Institute. You're not a Shadowhunter anymore, but you're not human either. You have the Fey's Mark."

"Fantastic." Alec's free hand flies to his temple. "I'm a hybrid." He spits the last word out, loathing and fear coloring his voice. Magnus' expression darkens, but he doesn't comment.

"There's a potion I read about long ago that's supposed to be able to stop the turning process. It won't make you a Shadowhunter, but it'll stop you from becoming human for a while."

"At least that'll give us some time to find a cure," Jace mumbles. Izzy nods briskly. Alec doesn't let himself hope there is one.

"Do you know how to make the potion?" he asks, although he can already hear the negative answer vibrating though Magnus' chest.

"I know where to find the book with the recipe," Magnus replies with a grin that's not entirely fake. Alec is positively surprised.

"Let's go then!" Izzy whoops beside him. Magnus stops her cheerful march with a hand clutching at her hoodie. Alec can see her struggling not to punch his face.

"_You _are not going anywhere but back to the Institute."

"Why?"

"Because Alec's gonna need clothes if he's planning on staying here," Magnus says. "I've only so many shirts without glitter which I'm willing to give away."

"How about ones without dirty jokes on them?" Jace asks, eyeing the _I WANNA TAKE A RIDE ON YOUR DISCOSTICK_ imprint on Alec's shirt.

"What dirty joke?"

"Nothing you should worry about," Magnus mumbles, glaring at Jace. Izzy sighs. Jace just snickers, wiggling his eyebrows and leering ridiculously at Izzy. She thwacks his head. Magnus gives her an approving smile. "You're going with Isabelle," he instructs with a curt nod to Alec when both Jace and Izzy settle. "Jace and I will go to the library."

Alec isn't sure it's worth arguing over, so he nods and gets up. Magnus lets go of his shoulders after a moment's hesitation.

"Why me?" Jace asks suddenly.

"I don't trust you alone in the house," Magnus answers snidely. "You might find a way to burn it."

Jace smirks. "Feels good to be appreciated."

"Today's children." Magnus sighs heavily, shaking his head in surrender. He spins on his heel- five inches high boots- to sweep everything on the kitchen table right onto the floor. Plates, glasses and books end up in a messy heap to the left of him. Opening a drawer, Magnus draws out a gleaming, silver fruit-knife. With a smooth movement, he pulls up his sleeve and makes a shallow cut just under his elbow. The blood drips on the table top in rhythm with the clock's ticks.

"Heel, blonde-hazard. The rest of you, shoo." Magnus' voice manages to stay level, even though he's drawing a rune with his own blood. His hands don't even shake. Alec recognizes the design. A portal.

"How will we get back in after you're gone?" Alec asks.

Magnus looks at him, startled. "Haven't thought of that. C'mere." Alec steps closer. "Give me a second to finish-" he makes an elaborate line. "This." Magnus inspects his work, adds a few more strokes and turns with a flourish to face Alec. "Give me your hand."

Alec extends his right, palm up. Magnus grins, dips his fingers in the cut again, and scribbles something onto Alec's skin. It looks like a rune, but Alec can't tell which. "When you're back, touch the door."

Alec nods and steps back.

Magnus murmurs something in Latin, and then slams his bloodied palm right in the center of the circle he's drawn. The room gets gradually colder, all energy stripped off and flowing to the center. Breathing becomes harder, inhales slow and shallow in the spell's wake. The symbols on the table darken and spread until the circle resembles a tunnel. Alec can't help but think of Alice in Wonderland.

"Why on a table?" Izzy asks.

"Easier to replace a table than a wall."

"You can paint a wall," she reasons.

"Not after this," Magnus replies. "You two, out the door. You-" he shoots a look at Jace. "With me."

Crawling on to the table, Magnus comes to the edge of the portal. With another step, he's gone. Jace grabs a bag follows suit.

x

Jace lands right in the center of someone's rose bush. Magnus doesn't bother hiding the smirk forming on his face. It widens with each curse uttered from his companion. By the time Jace finally makes it out of the red death-trap, the warlock is hiccupping, tears in his eyes.

"Shut up."

Magnus ignores him and keeps on laughing at his expense, howling like a mad hyena. Jace has the urge to punch his pretty face in an awful, irreparable way. He can't fathom what Alec finds so appealing about him beside the magic tricks.

Jace looks around while Magnus calms himself down. It's a small town, probably smaller than the smallest park in New York. It's yellow and dry with the promise of a few snow inches come January. The main road is deserted, most of the houses quiet. The only movement he can see is on the other-side of town, where a white-clad crowd is gathered. Even from afar, Jace can see the cross against the dreary, blue sky.

"Where are we?"

"Gobles, Michigan," Magnus says, a grin still plastered on his insufferable face. "Population less than a thousand. It was founded about a hundred and fifty years ago by a witch and her mundane husband."

"Was she a librarian?"

"A seamstress. Her gowns are fabulous."

"I'll assume you tried one on."

"And looked far more fabulous in it than Gisele ever did."

Jace rolls his eyes.

They start walking towards the center of town. The buildings are dusty and solid, made of yellow and red brick, some chipped off, only a few repainted. The sidewalk's wide and clean, all the stores already closed. Jace feels lost in a last-century ghost town.

"Do you really believe we can stop Alec from turning human?" Jace asks as they round a corner. He isn't sure what he'd like for an answer.

"If we find the book with the recipe, yes."

"Is there a chance we won't?"

"There's a chance we won't make it out of The Library."

They cross the street and duck through an alley, although it's too bright and spacious to be called so. It leads them to a boulevard with a couple of trees and a bench. Magnus stops him before he steps out of the shadows the buildings provide.

"Is that why you chose me and not Alec?"

Magnus nods slowly. "You're expendable," he says, voice sharp and honest; the dislike is still apparent, if slightly frayed at the edges- dulled with time.

Jace hardly gives a damn.

"Where's the library?"

"Just Look."

Jace does. The buildings scattered in front of him remain the same, but where the small town hall stood unaccompanied, now another building grows at its back, spearing the sky in vicious, straight lines. Its pointed arches, blind arcades and spires are adorned with gargoyles, all entrances guarded by large stone-curved lions. The walls are made of marble, dark like the heart of the sea, dulled with time to have no texture and no shine. The shadow it casts covers most of the town. Jace can't help but feel impressed.

"_That's_ our Library," Magnus declares, catching the awe in Jace's face and rubbing it in. Jace ignores him but schools his features, expression lost.

"How do we get in?"

"Hereby lays the problem," Magnus' eyes trail the lines and arches of The Library, not once resting on the actual entrance. "I'm not too welcome here."

"Why? They're not into pink highlights?"

"Let's just say I missed a few return deadlines."

"You _stole_ books?" Magnus seems affronted by Jace's indignant tone.

"Stealing's for the inadequate," he huffs in reply.

"What would you call it then?"

"Larceny."

Jace snorts. Magnus pointedly ignores him. "I can't get past the guards." He points towards the lions. "And even if I could, I wouldn't be able to touch the books."

"What're we gonna do then?"

Magnus grins, teeth sharp and white against his sun kissed skin. Jace takes a step back and tersely declares, "Whatever it is you wanna do- I refuse."

"I believe you don't have much of a choice, honey."

Jace gives him a glare. Magnus snaps his fingers twice and something black appears in his palm. Upon closer inspection, Jace realizes it's a tiny camera. And an earpiece. "Dark days are before us," Jace mutters, voice purposefully low and ominous, "for Warlocks have turned to plain, ol' Mundie technology for help."

"Don't you think they'd recognize a magic pattern if I put some sort of spell on you?" Magnus asks him, his tone suggesting he believes Jace has thought just that, and that he's a fool for it. Fool being a term loosely applies to include all sorts of other nasty names. "It's safer that way." Magnus throws him the earpiece and sets the camera's settings before attaching it to Jace's front collar.

When he's done, Magnus steps back with a satisfied grin. "Can you hear me?" he asks, and Jace hears it double.

"Affirmative, Captain Sparkles."

"Good." Magnus steps behind him and with one push throws him right into the light. "Atta boy!"

When Jace looks back to shout a response Magnus is already gone.

"Not funny." There's no answer on the line.

"Magnus." Still no reply. Just static.

"Damnit, I swear to God if you-"

"Relax, darling." A voice murmurs through the earpiece. "I don't want to risk being seen. It'll kill you and make it even more inconvenient for me. Not to mention that Alec would sulk for days if you died on my watch."

"Years," Jace corrects testily, "He'd sulk for _years_." Magnus doesn't bother with a response. Jace heads to the library's main entrance with his head held high and his pace even. "What's the book called?" he asks under his breath.

"_Nosce Te Ipsum_. A bit tacky, but it gets the idea across." Jace agrees.

"That's the curse type?"

"Not really, just a fancy name for it. The book contains a research done on everything that concerns altering one's self, willingly or not."

Jace can see the entrance clearly now. The doors are twice his height, made of an ancient, twisted bark, tinted red and honey. On one of the higher panes, a small branch catches Jace's eye, a single leaf attached to a thin stem, still green. As Jace stands before the entrance, the wood creaks and sighs like a rusty engine. It starts with a subtle movement on the lower panes, a slight shift of the bark, a small motion, a minor change. It is far more fundamental on the center panes, the heavy bark slowly moving to form a face- two hollows for eyes, a branch-stump as a nose and a deep gash for a mouth.

"Name," the tree utters. Jace stands before it speechless. The doors are _alive_; he's never seen anything quite like it.

"That's Cyparissus. The Gatekeeper," Magnus' voice whispers in his ear.

Jace just stands there, gawking.

"Name." the face repeats.

"Say hi."

"Jace."

"Incorrect."

"What do you mean, incorrect?"

The doors remain silent. Magnus just laughs. "My name's Jace."

"Incorrect," The doors reply.

"Jonathan Morgenstern."

"Incorrect."

"Jonathan _Christopher_ Morgenstern."

"Incorrent."

"What's wrong with you?" Jace has the urge to kick the doors just for the heck of it. Then maybe make them into a stool. Or wooden toilet bowls. "That's my name!"

"Incorrect."

"Magnus," Jace growls under his breath. "_What the f-_"

"Touch the doors." Jace does. The wood gradually smooths until Cyparissus is gone, leaving no mark to indicate its lurking presence behind the panels. The doors swing open.

The revealed space is fusty. It smells of dust bunnies and wax. Shelves cover every available surface, from floor to ceiling, from one wall to another. The only source of light is a grand rose window, upon which, even from afar, Jace can discern a stunning depiction of the Creation story- with the figures of demons, angels and Downworlders vibrant against the filtering sun. The bookshelves tower over him as he enters the library, looming and hiding away the ceiling and the light.

Jace feels like a mouse trapped in a maze- small, insignificant and a tad claustrophobic.

"Mind telling me what Cyparissus was on about?" Jace mumbles into the earpiece. A voice in the back of his mind tells him that curiosity has killed the cat. Jace tells it to shut up. He's had enough with this familial shit.

"Cyparissus is the Gatekeeper. His job is to bark whenever an intruder enters or a hazard stands before the door. That's why I sent you in." Jace nods without realizing the gesture won't translate to sound. Magnus doesn't seem to mind the quiet. "The gate keeps record of anyone who goes in, and anyone who goes out. Shadowhunters get special treatment- you don't have to sign in the guestbook."

"Why?"

"Mainly because you have no use of the books inside. Even if you knew how to read the scripts- which you don't, by the by- you won't be able to use the spells or potions inside. Fortunately, some warlocks have the bizarre notion that your kind's all noble and whatnot. They assume a Shadowhunter won't steal books for someone else."

"Your respect for Shadowhunters warms my heart."

"If it weren't for Alec, I'd have even less of it."

The library seems to grow bigger the deeper Jace wanders.

"Won't they notice a Shadowhunter has come by? It sounds like a rarity."

"Probably not. Your presence isn't too important."

"I am offended."

"It's good for your ego, kid. It needs a diet."

Jace snorts quietly. His steps are loud on the floor, every other plank creaking under his weigh. He loses himself trying to figure out the sorting system in place. He fails miserably- even the labels turning to riddles of unfamiliar script.

"You're not much help," he tells Magnus, whose lame excuse is the fact he hasn't been to this particular library for over a century so he's not up to date with its new interior design. "How am I supposed to find this freaking book?"

"Find the letter N?"

Jace grumbles in response and takes a sharp turn to the left. He finds himself facing yet another hall, its walls made of sturdy bookcases, just wide enough for him to pass through at an angle. He turns left again and again, surrounded with shelves, lost among innumerable books. They all look the same to him- leather bound, thick and chained tightly with silver. Some volumes rattle as he goes through, the whole shelf shaken by the force of the motion. Jace figures the chains aren't there to prevent theft. "How are we gonna get past those?" he asks Magnus. The warlock hums some top-forty in his ear as he mulls it over.

"Call a librarian."

"What?" Jace squawks at him. "I thought the whole point was not to alert anyone!"

"Are the chains magically reinforced?"

Jace squints at the shelf right in front of him, comfortably positioned at eyelevel. The chains glow slightly, a thin thread of blue energy woven through the metal links. It shimmers softly, the energy moving smoothly from one link to the next throughout the whole shelf section. "Damnit."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Can't you do anything about it?"

"I can, and then you'll be deader than Alec's fashion sense." Jace snorts. "Find a librarian. If I end up with an unflattering tan- I _will_ charge you."

"And _how_ am I to find a librarian?"

Magnus sighs heavily in his ear, as if he's just lost all faith in humanity's defenders. "Just ask for help."

Jace inhales deeply before saying, "Can I get some help?" as if the world, and its librarians, owed him much more. Soundlessly, a short figure appears further up the hall.

"Coming, dear," a voice tells him, high and sugary sweet with the customary accent to the English documentaries Jace can't stand. It's an old voice, and the lady sporting it looks about ready to crumble down.

"What does she look like? It's too dark for the camera."

"Like a grizzly with a bad perm."

"Must be Selma then."

"Selma Warwick," the lady shakes Jace's hand enthusiastically as soon as she's close enough. Her grip is surprisingly strong, her skin dry and rough. "Nice to meet you, boy, I haven't seen your kind here in a while."

She smiles at him, so he reckons she doesn't mean it as an insult. He grins back, charm oozing out in waves. "I'm glad you met me, then."

Selma laughs. "Indeed, boy, indeed." She finally lets go of his hand. "What was it you wanted help with, lad?" she asks.

"I've had trouble finding a book. I seem to get further lost with every turn I take- this library is so big." Jace schools his expression and adds a little spike of innocence to his voice. He's drawing from memories of Max and Alec in a bookshop- mimicking Alec's poorly suppressed glee and his little brother impatient movements. Selma melts.

"What's that book dear?"

"Nosce Te Ipsum."

Selma's mouth reshapes itself into a surprised 'O'. "Why would you need that? It has nothing but potions in it."

"A friend of mine was cursed. I think I might find the cure there," Jace blurts.

"Why are you telling her that?" Magnus demands. "Weren't you the one against alerting anyone?"

"Why didn't you hire a witch for that, dear? Surely you cannot brew a potion."

"I hired a witch but she's watching my friend right now. She sent me here to copy the recipe so she won't have to leave him." Jace lowers his eyes and voice. "He's in a really bad state, ma'am."

It seems to be the right thing to say though, because Selma's face splits into a blinding smile and she tugs Jace's hand to follow her. "That is sweet of you, lad."

The shelves around them are a whirl of papyrus and leather. Jace tries to remember the turns, but after the fifteenth he loses patience and quits. It's not as if he knew how to get out from when Selma picked him up anyway.

Suddenly, the woman stops. Jace miraculously doesn't topple over her. With a flick of her bony wrist, a book breaks free from the chains somewhere over their heads. It floats down into Selma's waiting hands. She hands the heavy volume over to Jace with a kind smile and a warm "There you have it, boy."

Jace thanks her and she disappears without a response. He blinks at the empty air before him. With a shrug, he turns to study the book in his hands. It is quite big, but not unusually so for a script its age, and jeweled to the point of being ridiculously tacky; he can feel gemstones digging into his palms. There's no title on the front cover, but as Jace opens the book, it glares at him with bold, black letters.

"Found it," he tells Magnus. The warlock sort of _yeeps_ in his ear. Jace just grins.

"Fabulous. Now you just have to sneak it out without the tracing notifying anyone."

Jace's grin slips. His gut tells him everything's about to go to shit. "_How?_" he demands.

"Cut the pages out and put a concealment rune on them. It's weak enough to go unnoticed by the guards. They aren't trained to notice Shadowhunter tricks." Jace complies and gets out his stele. Opening the book, he slowly cuts it right at the seams, pages slowly coming apart in his grip. In a few moments, the cover is no longer connected, the pages newly branded.

"How come they don't have protection spells on those things?"

There's silence on the other end.

"You haven't thought of that, have you?" the guilty silence proves his statement. "You," Jace pauses for dramatic effect. "Are an _idiot_."

"It was an educated guess," Magnus snaps at him irritably. Jace huffs out _uh-ha_ with as much disbelief and disappointment as he can manage to convey with his vocal cords. "It'd take far too much energy to sustain so many protection spells."

"Educated my ass," Jace counters. He crouches down to rummage through his bag. He finds a book there, a simple hardcover titled _THE MAN WHO FORGOT HIMSELF: W. B. YEATS, A MUNDANE SEER_. Vaguely, he recalls using it as a lever to get to the sword Magnus holds over his bookshelves. He has no idea how it ended up in his bag, doesn't particularly care either. He opens the book and performs the simple surgical motions over again. He switches the ancient book's content with the hardcover, carefully stuffing the jeweled leather cover with the new, white pages and sealing them in with another rune. It looks a bit off, but Jace hopes Selma won't look too closely. He shoves the hardcover and its new content inside his bag and shoulders it.

"Think I should call Selma?" Jace asks. "I can just leave it on the floor or something. Maybe I'll even have enough time to run before she reappears."

"I wouldn't try that if I were you." Magnus' voice is tense.

"Why?"

"It'll make her suspect you." The warlock replies. "She gave you a book and you disappeared. What d'you think she'll make of that?"

"What does it matter? I'll be long gone before she does."

"Not worth the risk."

"Is letting her take it back a better option?"

"The gate won't let you out anyway without her permission."

"Should've said so in the beginning," Jace grumbles before clearing his throat and calling out to Selma. She appears silently before him.

"Are you finished, dear?"

Jace plasters on a smile and nods vigorously. "Yes, ma'am." Selma smiles back, but her hand quickly comes forward for the loan. Jace hands over the book with barely shaking hands. He can feel sweat drying on his nape in the stale, cold hall. Selma takes the volume, small hands curling around the robust leather binding. She pats it fondly, skimming over the jewels and gems, her thumb brushing across the pages. Jace sees it before it happens- dry palms opening the book to check he hasn't dog-eared anything, that the script is safe and sound. Panic rises in him as Selma's arm flexes and her fingers inch closer to the edges of the cover in order to flip it over.

"Magnus, _do something_," he murmurs as softly as he can, urgency coloring his tone. In the next moment, there's an explosion outside.

Selma's eyes shift from the book in her hands to the rose window far, far ahead. "Oh, my," she mumbles and a soft, ghostly sigh follows. She doesn't move, though. There's another explosion, louder this time. Jace's eyes are glued to Selma's hands. She refuses to bulge, but at least she's stopped with her check.

_For now_.

"We should check what's happened out there," he tells her, manipulating his shaking voice to seem concerned. "There may be civilians hurt."

"There may," she answers, apathetic. She turns to smile at him. "My concern is only for my books, dear." With that said, Selma flicks her wrist and sends the book back to its shelf. Jace slowly lets his breath out.

"I will lead you to the exit." With a decisive nod, she turns and starts walking ahead. Jace quickly falls into step. It takes them long to reach the entrance, and by the end of it Jace's tense muscles are aching. He's vibrating when Selma's hand lifts to Cyparissus, pulling at the handles. The soft breeze is a welcome chill for his heated skin. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Jace waits some unknown signal- a nod, a smile- that it is alright to go, leave, _run_.

"I hope you'll find a cure for your friend," Selma tells him before turning away. Jace bolts out the door without a second thought.

As soon as his feet touch the ground outside, something screams. It's a metallic sound, the animalist screech of metal against wood. It's groan of something awakening.

All around him, statues tremble with the force of it. A ripple goes through the air, and the ivory marble of the lions before him darkens as veins appear beneath the inanimate coat. Stretching their muscles, the guards come alive.

Looking behind him, Jace finds Cyparissus' face staring right back with ferocious malice and burning, empty eyes. The bark breaks and remolds with a definite _snap_, sturdy young stems visible through the cracks. As they make their way through Cyparissus' old skin, they thicken and grow suspiciously pointy ends.

They lash out at Jace with the intent to kill just as Selma turns around again. Her eyes are dark, her lips pierced. She waves her slight hand and the lions roar, leaping towards Jace. She doesn't bother to stay and watch the battle. The doors close.

Jace sidesteps one of the bolder vines, intent on gouging out his eyes. It leaves a deep gash from chin to ear on his left side. His earpiece drops. Making a sharp turn on his heel, he manages to escape the giant paw of a nearby lion. The hit leaves an impressive imprint on the ground, almost as deep as Jace is high. He slips between the beast's legs, swiftly snakes his hand into his backpack and tightens a fist around a seraph blade.

"Sandalphon," he names the blade and quickly cuts through some of the offending greenery. He feints another try for a stab and runs. The lions roar behind him. Cyparissus' arms tangle themselves in his feet, effectively tripping him. A lion almost crushes him while he cuts through the plants around his shins. Rolling on his side, its claws only cut through his pack.

"Fuck." Reaching back, he grabs the remains of the bag. The rip goes through the whole front. "Fuckety fuck." Praying the book's safe, Jace thrusts a hand in, feeling the insides until his fingers collide with a large, rectangular shape of a book. The hardcover is badly damaged, but it seems intact. Jace doesn't have any more time to spare checking it as another vine catches his shoulder, reaping the trapezius through his shirt and knocking him back into a lion's front paw. Everything blacks out before him, the moving assailants barely a smudge of color against his eyelids. Pain blooms somewhere above his calf, ripping muscles and striking bone. Jace bites down a scream. He can feel the lions prowling around him, slowly inching closer and closer. The earth is jarred as one of the beasts springs towards him.

Jace prays for a quick death.

It takes him a moment to realize something's off. It takes him another few to realize it's the sound that's missing. There's no crushing weigh over him, no marble claws shredding his neck, not a single vine embedding itself in his heart.

Jace looks around- vision still blurry, black spots here and there. The scene around him is frozen, everything suspended, all motion paused. The lion behind him is halfway through his leap, hanging in the air like a puppet taut on its strings. Its fellows are stuck mid roar. The vines surrounding him are still.

"How did you survive long enough to meet my fabulous self with poor skills like those?" Magnus voice booms at him from behind. Jace doesn't care enough to respond to the patronizing lilt. He doesn't have the energy to spare.

"Get me out of here or those skills will wipe the floor with your bony ass," he says, pulling himself up slowly, carefully trudging to Magnus' lanky form. The warlock shakes his head with an exasperated sigh and appears _right in Jace's face_ in five, large steps. He grabs hold of Jace's shoulder with a shaking, bleeding arm. There are faint magic bursts all about him, red and orange like sparks from a campfire. The lions are moving again.

Jace sees them closing in when their forms turn hazy and blurred, like violent spurts of color flickering in the corner of his eye. Magnus' grip is strong, his tight grasp Jace's sole support. The ground beneath him drops and changes, the air stolen and replaced- time and place shuffled, shaken and thrown about like a tennis ball. It's over before his gag reflex kicks in.

Jace falls into the rose bushes again. Magnus laughs at him and shoves him into the portal. They land on the kitchen table in a harsh, loud _thump_. Jace holds his breath, prepared to launch until Magnus breaks the portal circle by smudging the blood.

Jace closes his eyes with a deep, satisfied sigh and gets prepared to fall asleep right there in the kitchrn before Alec's shrill "God, are you _alright_?" forces his eyes open. Magnus is practically plastered to Alec's side, the book Jace has risked his life to bring back lying before them on the counter.

"This," says Magnus. "Is it."

Catching sight of Jace's intense staring, Alec morphs into a humane tomato and tries to push Magnus away. Jace drops his head back onto the table. Alec stops struggling, but takes a measured step back, the distance between him and the warlock now firmly established. Magnus' face falls and his demeanor quickly cools.

"Where's Izzy?" Jace demands grumpily.

"She's with Max, trying to explain why his brother's not gonna come back for a while without him having a fit."

"Harsh." The tabletop is cool against Jace's forehead. He doesn't bother getting up.

"How is Yeats' biography going to help me?" Alec asks, eying the stolen book.

"It's just the cover," Jace answers. "I kinda ripped it apart." He can hear Alec's scandalized inhale and warns, "Don't give me grief about it. It was either that or trying to kick the crazy librarian's ass. And she looked like a bear."

Alec shuts up with an audible click of his jaw. Magnus opens the book without a second, scathing glance. He gets out the thin, yellow pages from their ruined, impromptu cover and skims through them. A weak grin breaks on his face, charm notwithstanding, dim but enough to warm Jace's cold skin and shatter Alec's resolve. "I think we've got it."

Alec's shoulders loosen, some tension lost. He leans back against Magnus almost unconsciously and smiles. It's been a while since Jace saw him smiling that smile- the one that makes him want to make the world a little better, just to see that hope still has a place in it. It's shaken off quickly, sodden reality and years of hunting settling in, but the warmth isn't lost. Alec shakes himself, declares he's going to bring bandages and disappears in the hallway leading to the bathroom.

When Jace lifts his gaze, he sees Magnus' green eyes fixed on his face. He scowls.

"What?"

"Don't hurt him."

Jace frowns. "Why would I do that?"

"Unintentionally, you already did."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been trying to erase you for a while now, but Alec's stubborn and now he's _here_."

Alec's back before Jace has the chance to sock his boyfriend. He's got gauze and sterile pads, some needles and strings. "Jace, get up," he instructs as he fills a bowl with lukewarm water from the tap. Magnus sits in a chair, eyes boring into Jace's broad back.

Jace straightens with a wince, his shoulder torn and screaming. He tries not to flinch while Alec cleans the wound, but can't help it when the alcohol is applied. He grits his teeth when the needle goes in, precise and quick. Alec is practiced, and his hand is steady as he stiches Jace back together. When it's over Jace's teeth ache and Alec's hands are stained red. Once he moves on to his leg, the pain subsides slightly, the skin thicker- less sensitive to the applied pressure.

Jace looks over at Magnus as Alec works, but his eyes aren't glaring at him. They are trained on Alec, bent head, mop of black hair and pale, nimble fingers. Magnus doesn't say a word, but he doesn't have to for Jace to feel as if he's in the middle of something he has no right to meddle with. As he stares at Magnus, Jace comes to the conclusion that he's not so bad a person, and perhaps not so bad a boyfriend, if judging by the way he's carefully following each of Alec's movements.

When the treatment is finished, Alec turns to Magnus. "Think I can still use a stele?"

Magnus nods slightly. "I think you should still be able to in the first few days."

"Good." Alec smiles and his eyes brighten. He makes a 'gimme' motion at Jace and the stele is carefully handed over. "Where do you want it?"

Jace doesn't want to move his arm to pull up his sleeve. "Do it on the shoulder." Alec nods and bends again, branding Jace's skin. This time, Jace does get a glare from Magnus. He gives the warlock a dry look, not apologetic- but not defiant either. It's a look that says, _I think I get it_ and _I won't_.

The _Iratze_ burns, and with one final, decisive stroke- Alec is done. He turns to Magnus, eyes intent on his arm. It's still bleeding a little, nothing life threatening, but just about deep enough to make one slightly wobbly and faint. "I'm fine, darling. Really," Magnus says, but Alec gives him an unimpressed look, already armed with gauze and a sterile pad large enough to cover the gash.

"Why did you cut so deep?" Alec demands as he inspects the wound. "I thought those temporary portals don't need that much blood sacrifice."

"It wasn't the portal," Magnus answers. "We ran into the guards. I had to stop time for a while."

Alec's eyes widen. He seems a bit stricken. "And you say it just like that? _I just had to stop time for a while_?"

Magnus' mouth unfurls into a stupid, cocky grin Jace is well accustomed to. "I really wanted that book, sweetheart," he explains. Alec ducks his head, embarrassed but visibly preening.

"That's why you're bleeding?" Alec asks as he soaks a towel in alcohol. "Does that require a blood sacrifice too?"

"You have to give something in order to gain something. Magic comes with a price."

Alec mumbles "You didn't have to do that," and lifts Magnus' arm a bit. His motions are careful but firm, bloody flesh slowly cleansed. Pressed down against his injury, the towel quickly turns maroon. Magnus lets out a hiss, his other hand tightly clasping Alec's shoulder. It takes a while, but the bleeding stops eventually. Alec throws away the towel and places the sterile, snow-white pad onto olive skin. Applying some pressure, he starts unrolling the gauze and wrapping it around the warlock's arm. When the gauze runs out, he tears it with his teeth to create two even ends. Jace sees Magnus' eyes snap to his brother's mouth.

The gauze is quickly tied and Alec straightens with a smile. "Done."

Magnus smiles like a child in love. It's painfully sincere, truly beautiful and so very obvious in its intensity and intent. "I did have to." He says it like an axiom.

Jace expects Alec to blush and stare at the floor like it's terribly fascinating. He doesn't- he looks back, and with earnest stubbornness etched all over his features, says _Thank you_ as if Magnus needs it.

Jace exits the room without either being aware of his sudden departure. He goes to the bathroom to wash his face and change his clothes. He stays outside the living-room longer than necessary because he feels they are entitled to _something_ and he has nothing more to offer than some privacy.

When he returns, Magnus has a handful of the book's torn pages in his hands. Alec sits across him, more sheets strewn on his lap. Jace unceremoniously grabs another few and sits down.

"What are we looking for?" he asks.

"Anything that has to do with reverse transfiguration," Magnus replies. "The chances you'd be able to read that-" Magnus gestures towards the papers Jace holds, "-are slim."

Jace looks at the text and realizes Magnus is right. The script looks like a blind man's doodles, or Izzy's handwriting. Magnus hands him some of his own material and takes the pages Jace has no idea how to read. "That's Latin," the warlock explains. "That should be readable enough, even for thee of little intellect."

They spend hours digging through spells, potions and rituals. Most of it doesn't make much sense, some seems too ludicrous to actually work, enough too disgusting to digest.

"Why's that half of those potions have spiders in them?" Alec asks, voice quivering.

"They have therapeutic qualities, especially the bigger ones. Tarantula fangs, for example -"

Alec shivers and gags, his face suddenly colored all sorts of green. Magnus takes one look at him and shuts up, quickly averting his eyes. Jace snickers and gets on with his reading. By dinner, he's found a potion used to turn one's limbs into wings, and a spell to discover the environment best suited for your soul.

"Anyone found anything?"

Alec shakes his head. "I have learned how to transfigure metal to gold, though."

"So alchemy's real?"

"Of course it is." Magnus says it like it's obvious. Jace tries to convey it's _totally not_ with a single, seething look.

"I haven't found the exact potion," Magnus continues, "But there are few I can maybe remold for our needs. It's a good sign."

"How?"

"It means we have the right book," Magnus returns his eyes to the scattered papers in his lap. "It means we're close to the answer."

Alec nods. There's a moment of shared relief before Jace slumps over and demands to be fed.

"I'm hungry. Can you make the cat into a burger?" Jace asks Magnus. "Or at least summon a pizza?"

"Nope," Magnus grins. "Injured." He nods at his bandaged arm with a smirk. "You can go and buy something though."

"You're just lazy."

"The fridge is right there."

"I can cook," Alec offers suddenly.

"But you cook healthy food. I want jun-" Jace counters.

"I'd love that," Magnus disrupts him. The self-satisfied smirk morphs into a gentler expression.

Alec nods without hiding his smile and gets up. He puts on his snickers, hoodie and fingerless gloves.

"Aren't you gonna look in the fridge first?" Jace asks when Alec heads to the door.

"There's nothing in there anyway," Alec says, and he seems so certain Jace feels he knows Magnus' apartment better than he does, and Jace is _living_ there.

"Anything specific you two want?" Alec's hand is already on the handle, but he turns before he leaves.

"That chicken salad thing you do," Magnus replies. Alec grins, says ok and is out the door before Jace manages to formulate 'not veggies'.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm a firm believer that a/ns are for rambling, thus I shall ramble.

Gobles is a real town in Michigan **(phoenixfire44, fixed! thank you)**, and (according to wiki) had the population of 829 in 2010. From pics I've seen of the place it looks like the perfect location for a concealed, enormous library. It also has the most perfect name- right out of a fantasy book.

On the subject of names, Selma is the feminine form for the name Anselm (Ans- God, Helm- protection, as she guards the library), brought to England in the 11th century. As for her surname- I was thinking War of the Roses.

(I called her Dorothea in the original draft because I totally forgot CC has a character by that name. I finally remembered when there were casting news for Madam Dorothea, so I had to find a replacement. Shame on me for forgetting Madam Dorothea.)

_Nosce Te Ipsum- _means 'Know thyself' in Latin.

Hope this chapter wasn't too terrible :)

**(typo fixed! thanks Can't log in)**

Excerpt from the next chapter:

_"Why didn't you save him?" she demands. "You could've, couldn't you?" her small frame is shaking terribly, like a leaf caught in a tornado. _


	3. 02: Trinity

**IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ!**

Please open a new tab- yes, do it, come on, now- and open Google Translate. It'll make your reading experience far more enjoyable and less annoying. There's translation for all the non-English phrases in this chapter in the A/N at the bottom of the page- but trust me, scrolling down will piss you off after the second phrase, because this chapter might be shorter than the rest, but it's rather long nonetheless.

(You don't have to, of course, since Alec doesn't understand any of it either, but I'm the type of reader who would've liked to know right away so I'm giving you a heads up!)

* * *

**02: Trinity**

Alec stumbles onto Simon on his way to theGreenmarketon South. With hands stuffed in his pockets, back hunched and eyes intently following his feet, Alec actually _stumbles_, almost knocking them both over. Simon yelps at the contact, whirls around and almost smacks Alec on the head.

"Hey!" Alec takes a step back as Simon's flailing arms threaten with impact. "Careful!" sliding behind him, Alec swiftly grabs Simon's arm and locks it behind his back. It takes some tugs to stop the thrashing. The cursing keeps on going.

"Um." Alec lets go of Simon as soon as he thinks he can get away without earning himself a black-eye. "Hi."

Simon turns around at the sound of his voice and gawks. "You?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"I thought you were a hobo," he tells him. "You look like a hobo."

"Thanks a lot."

Simon grins guiltily at him. "It's because of the black outfit," he explains. "It makes you sorta formidable."

"You sure that wasn't the armlock?"

Simon waves his hand at him. "Nah, that I could handle." He shifts his arms so one is pressed close to his body, bent at the elbow and clenched into a fist, the other outstretched before him- palm open, thumb folded in. His stance shifts and his legs spread a bit. "I have awesome ninja moves."

Alec cocks his head. "Shift your weigh to your right leg and bend your knees. It'll give you a better spring."

Simon blinks at him but complies. "Really?"

"Come at me," Alec instructs. When Simon hesitates, he adds, "C'mon."

Simon leaps, fist aimed at Alec's lower stomach. He misses, of course, but it's a nice try. When the open palm comes to cut at his airway- Alec's almost impressed. He grabs Simon's arm, hooks his foot behind his ankle and kicks. He lets go before Simon's joints break. "Not bad," he says. "If you practice you can even be decent."

Simon snorts. His eyes flicker with a pleasant, warm color, lips twisting. "That a compliment?"

Alec is surprised to find out it is.

"What are you doing here?" he asks instead of replying, but scowls for good measure. Simon straightens.

"I was going home from Kirk's," he says, as if it's obvious who Kirk is, why Simon went there and where 'there' is. "I beat Matt in the Final Battle of the East and now he's stuck with an Orc-halfling."

Alec considers pretending he cares. He reckons it's not worth the energy. "You make no sense at all."

Simon shrugs. "That's because you don't have any RPG experience like any other normal person."

The conversation and the silence at its wake are an awkward affair neither desires, yet has nothing more to say in order to chase it away. Alec considers saying his goodbyes just to run away from it.

"Do you remember I had a favor to ask of you?" Simon finally asks, voice uneasy and face chiseled in hard, unforgiving lines. The smile fades. Alec is curious enough to nod. "Can you accompany me somewhere?"

"How far away is it?" he says instead of 'no'.

"It's on 116th." Alec tries to remember if there was anything dangerous around there and comes up blank. He figures there isn't supposed to be anything besides some oversized sewer rats.

"Why?" Alec asks.

"I have to talk to someone," Simon says. "I thought a Shadowhunter's presence would help me gain ground."

Alec nods. It makes sense. Only he's not a Shadowhunter anymore, and he doesn't know what use Simon will have of him. He wonders what kind of person Simon has to meet that a Shadowhunter's presence should matter; he doesn't think asking would do him any good, though- Simon seems reluctant to talk of the matter as it is. "Is it supposed to be dangerous?"

After a beat, Simon shakes his head. "I don't think so."

Alec nods. He wants to be cautious, but being cautious means accepting the weakness, and accepting is something he can't- _won't_- do. Accepting will make it real, and it isn't- it's remediable, temporary. Asking and prodding equals fear, fear makes you a coward, being a coward is what he was never born to be. It's something human. Alec isn't human. Not really.

Not ever.

"Alright. Lead the way."

They make their way to Bowling Green in silence, shuffling through the evening air, two shadows beneath the bright street lights. They board the subway and prepare for twenty minutes of sealed lips and averted eyes- both immensely surprised when they are able to hold a civil conversation when they don't have to. As they get off to transfer trains, Simon's eagerly telling Alec about Orc Wars and Youtube. Alec even gets to play with his phone- it's practically alive, purring like a cat when touched. Alec pokes it for five minutes straight before Simon takes it away. Their conversation is unexpectedly pleasant.

"What would happen if you get this 'virus' thing? All your systems would fall apart," Alec says as they get off the train. "You'd be left with nothing!"

"True," Simon agrees solemnly. "But that why we have firewalls and stuff."

"How can you have a _fire wall_ in a world that doesn't exist?" Alec demands. "Do you employ warlocks?"

Simon laughs. "No, a firewall is a sort of protection against the viruses. Think of it as a vaccine." At Alec's confused expression he alters, "Or a protection spell. Not everything is strong enough to pass it."

"But you can?" they pass a jewelry store, a church and a deli, before heading to the old, beaten houses littering the street. It's alight with neon signs, bulletins and lamps, the occasional broken winker running away from its source along the road. The evening is surprisingly quiet in this area, and when they take another turn to a darker alley, even the humane chatter fades away. Their voices hit the walls and ricochet, a Ping-Pong of sounds that is slowly swallowed by the night. The walls are dark with grime, wry and aged bricks desperately hanging onto one another. The doors are made of rotting wood, the windows shut and the curtains drawn. The whole area smells of grey dolor.

They stop before two metal doors set within the ground, bitten by rust and disuse. In between the bars, Alec sees nothing but soot and darkness. The place itself is unremarkable, but it's missing a door. There's a sign above Alec's head, wood held by two thick metal-chains.

It says _Hotel de Mort_.

"That's awfully dramatic," Alec remarks as they descend. He drops on the floor next to Simon's fallen form. The dust settles around them.

"Have you ever seen a vampire that wasn't a drama-queen?" Simon gets up and moves ahead. Alec's hand shoots to grab his forearm.

"Who said anything about vampires?" Alec's hiss echoes in the small room. He grits his teeth before his voice cracks in fear. He scolds himself for being a coward, but doesn't let Simon go.

"That's why we're here," Simon explains, voice and expression befuddled. "That's who I have to talk to."

"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Alec demands, fear creeping up his spine with each elaborated breath. Now he knows why 116th rang familiar. It's where Jace and Clary went to retrieve Simon from. It's where the Central Nest is located.

"You didn't ask!" Simon replies. "Why is it such a big deal anyway?"

Alec can hear movements from the other side of the door. The rhythm is slow but even, two beats following one another almost simultaneously. Footsteps. "I am turning human, that's why," he whispers back, tightening his hold on Simon. It sounds real now. Far more frightening than the footsteps he can hear closing in.

"Since when?" Simon's eyes widen. He looks stumped.

"Since the Queen cursed me in her court."

"_Why didn't you say something?_"

Alec's eyes flash. His lips twist. He's not the one at fault here.

"_Why did you take me?_ You knew I had been cursed!" he snaps. Simon's face crumbles.

"Because if I died you'd be the only one who won't feel guilty over it!"

There's no time for Alec to shut up and feel ashamed. There's barely enough time for Simon's anger to morph into indignity. The door blows open before either one has had the chance. A black shadow moves across the room faster than human eyes can register. Somewhere in the back of Alec's mind the _I can_ resonates faintly, and the fear leaves momentarily in favor of displaced glee. The shadow's progress is silent, slowly gliding across the wooden floor as if it is ice. It is standing before Simon before either has the chance to move away or scream a warning.

Now that it stopped, Alec can see it's a boy, not much younger than he. His teeth are embedded in Simon's neck, eyes partially close. Dark, curly hair hides his expression, but it seems to Alec the vampire is half asleep. Simon gurgles, the scream stuck in his throat. He struggles, but his eyes quickly fog over. When Alec moves towards the vampire, a stele in hand, its eyes snap open- red like blood- and it jumps back, Simon's tender flesh still held between its jaws. Simon lands on the floor by the vampire's feet, the flesh on his neck torn, scream finally released. The vampire doesn't crouch to silence him; it stays still, frozen and locked by Alec's gaze.

"_Quién es usted_?" the vampire grumbles. His eyes are bright in the dark room. There's blood on his chin, dripping slowly onto his chest and staining his white pullover. He looks down, scanning Simon's paling face. His eyes narrow. "Rat-boy," he says, recognition flooding his eyes. The red fades to brown and he seems to wake a bit. Simon's body shudders and stills.

The vampire's eyes slowly shift to look at Alec. "What are you?" he asks. Alec gulps.

"I am a Shadowhunter." Before he completes his answer, the vampire is in his face. Alec's voice dies down quickly. The vampire before him is shorter- slight- but there's suppressed strength in his delicate frame. His eyes burn into Alec's, boring deeper than anyone has ever tried. Alec feels something inside of him pull. He can't stop himself from taking a step forward. There isn't much space left between them.

"_Mentiroso_," The vampire smiles. He's so close Alec can count his teeth. "You smell wrong," he informs Alec. "Not like the rest of you lot."

Alec doesn't respond. He is swaying on his feet, brushing against the other and pulling back again and again. A cold hand tangles itself in the short hair at the back of his nape, another slides up his side to bring them closer.

"What has brought you here?" the vampire's breath mingles with his own. It's warm, like the first gist of spring. He shivers.

"I don't know," Alec murmurs. He can feel his eyes dropping.

"Is he your friend?" the vampire whispers in his ear. Alec leans in. He shakes his head vehemently.

"He's dead," the vampire says, his words slur and shatter- their meaning lost. Alec doesn't know why it matters. Halfway through- he doesn't even know who the vampire is talking about. There's only the two of them.

The vampire turns his head back, looking at the form sprawled on the floor. He doesn't back out of Alec's personal space, and it's as intimidating as it is exciting. Alec can feel his heart failing, his blood rushing, sweat rolling down his neck. He never knew danger felt so good. It makes his whole body tingle, his muscles tense with the need to move. Move forward and _in_.

"Would you like to join him?" The vampire asks. His voice is nearly affectionate. He turns his head back and stares at Alec. Alec cranes his neck and Raphael's eyes skimmer over it hungrily. "I am Raphael_. __Cómo se llama usted__?_"

Alec remains silent, mostly because he doesn't understand the language, partially because he doesn't think it matters. Nothing matters but the heat.

"What is your name, _ojos azules__?_" Raphael repeats, voice soft. His eyes are hazel. Alec can feel himself leaning closer still, pulled by something other than Raphael's hands. His chin rests against the other's shoulder, neck exposed right before the vampire's teeth. There's something enchanting about Raphael that he can't pinpoint, but it draws him in like a magnetic force. He can feel sharp fangs grazing the arch of his neck, a warm breath ghosting over his skin.

"Alexander Lightwood," Alec breathes out an answer. Raphael's eyes widen. The air around them turns significantly colder. Raphael's hands push him away, and he stumbles as far as he can without outright running. Alec feels as if plunging through water- finally out and able to breathe. The pheromones recede, taking along the burning sensation in Alec's gut.

Alec blinks, and with the motion, the spell is broken. He's trembling, danger playing on his heart strings, fury acrid in his core. He looks at Simon- _Simon, Clary's friend_ - bleeding and still on the filthy floor. He moves without thought, realizing only later- when faced with the empty space Raphael stood in- that he's tried to punch him. "How dare you-"

"I am a vampire, young Alaxander," he says. "You should know we are fast."

Alec snorts. "You're also killers."

Raphael gives him a beatific smile. The expression doesn't fit his features. "That we are. God has created us so."

Alec's eyes narrow.

"You were God's mistake."

Raphael's smile flattens, but Alec doesn't get the satisfaction of erasing it completely. He seems generally amused by Alec's existence, and benevolent enough to let him live for the moment.

"I believe that in your current position, you are more of a mistake than I am." With that, Raphael springs on Alec, pinning his arms against the wall. Alec's stele clatters to the floor. Alec waits for the pain to bloom in his neck- for his life to end. He doesn't close his eyes, chiefly because he'd like to die braver than he's lived.

"Are you going to kill me too?" Alec asks, because it's rational to be at least a tad frightened, because he wants to know, because he thinks he should.

"_Probablemente no__,_" Raphael answers. "Your eyes are very blue," he tells him. Alec frowns.

"You shouldn't hide them," Raphael lets him go with a careful, measured step back. Alec doesn't know what sort of response such a statement requires, so he mumbles, "You're not killing people with blue eyes?" and hopes the whole thing will wrap up with just one body.

The vampire laughs. It's a surprisingly soft, pleasant sound. "I have learned that killing Shadowhunters brings nothing but ill luck- although you, boy, are not entirely a Shadowhunter anymore. I do not wish to anger your family- they are most unpleasant when irked."

"You would've killed Jace."

"I do not know who that is," Raphael rises an eyebrow. "Is he a friend?"

"He's the blond Shadowhunter that came to rescue Simon when you first took him."

"Ah, but that is obvious- I do not like blonds." Raphael's smile is almost charming. "And I truly do like your eyes, young Lightwood. I would have turned you have you not said your name when you did."

Alec believes him.

"Of course, were you a true Shadowhunter you wouldn't have fallen under my allure."

Alec narrows his eyes. He feels his cheeks heating. "I _am_ a Shadowhunter."

"In spirit, perhaps. Not in _carne_." With that, Raphael gestures towards Simon's body. "We should bury him."

"Why do you care? You've killed him."

"_Él es de mi propia sangre_." Raphael strides to Simon's side, easily lifting his body. "He shall rise soon."

"What do you mean _rise_?" Alec's voice rings in alarm. "He didn't drink your blood."

"He did." Raphael smiles again. He looks so normal it's outrageously deceiving. "When your friend came to rescue him, he had already ingested some of my blood. Now he is one with the Night."

There's bile rising up Alec's throat. His heart falls and tangles with his intestines- a big knot forming in his stomach. His head swims with the consequences of all that has happened, guilt washing over him, entering every pore and imbedding itself in his skin. He aches with it.

Raphael looks at him with a glimmer in his eye Alec can't decipher. "Will you come?" he asks, but his tone does not match his words. It feels as though it was meant for comfort, as much as a vampire would know about such things.

Alec nods firmly. "I owe him that much."

They make their way out of the hotel and out into the cold streets quickly. Alec would've expected the journey to be gravely silent- an unholy funereal crusade- but it is almost cheery in the eerie sense of rebirth and renewal. Raphael's steps are echoed in his humming. It's a hymn Alec hasn't heard since Max's birth- _Porque un niño nos ha nacido, un hijo nos ha sido dado_ murmured over and over, through dark alleys and illuminated sidewalks. Alec doesn't follow where they are going. His eyes are fixed on Simon's slumped from on Raphael's shoulder. The blood is still oozing from the wound on his neck, creating the map of Simon's life all over Raphael's shirt.

3rd avenue is surprisingly quiet, but they stick to the shadows anyhow. Raphael has glamour on, but it is weak and quickly dispelled with a stare. Vampire glamour is mostly a fleeting mirage- a one-glance illusion excellent in bars and dance clubs. Were they on the subway, even a mundane would be able to reveal the fragile cover if they were to sit and stare long enough.

So they walk.

They turn to 125th when they reach the Salvationists' community center, going on Luther King Boulevard, past Apollo and Burger King. They turn again on Broadway and walk along the bridge, the trains rattling past them without heed. Left on 145th and right on Riverside Drive, they finally make it to Trinity Church. By the time they arrive, Raphael's shirt is a lost cause and the night is a splotched ink stain above them.

They don't even have to put an effort into breaking in- the stone-wall surrounding the cemetery barely makes it to Alec's knees. He follows Raphael far into the heart of the establishment, heading for the empty burial ground.

"Do you happen to have a shovel?" Alec asks. Raphael barks a surprised laugh.

"No." Raphael puts Simon's body on the cold, synthetic grass. "I suppose I should get one."

Alec stays with Simon's silent form for the next few minutes. He wonders if he should apologize profusely or scream like a banshee. He really wants to blame Simon for _picking him_ for this stupid escapade. Alec might not like mundanes or Simon in particular, but his whole existence is like his role in the family- protect and guard- and assuming he won't feel anything merely because Simon isn't his friend is _idiotic_. The searing guilt claws at the alien detachment he desperately tries to banish, the dissonance heavy on his shoulders.

Raphael comes back with the shovel. "You should've brought two," Alec tells him.

"I believe I am far more experienced in this sort of thing,_ blue-eyes_." Raphael begins digging. "There's no need."

Alec scowls and drops on the ground gracelessly. The rhythm of the shovel hitting ground and the dirt thrown away makes for a surprisingly effective lullaby. When the time comes Simon's body is unceremoniously lowered into the impromptu grave. Alec can't look when Raphael begins piling the dirt on him again. When he's finished, Alec asks, "What now?"

"Now we wait," is Raphael's answer. "He should claw his way out."

Alec feels the sand grains of time slipping one after the other down to the other half of the hour glass. He counts them.

The ground ripples and heaves an eternity later, its surface broken and scarred with the effort of birth. The sound of it is deafening, like the scream of death and the cry of a newborn. Everything shakes, tombstones and trees trembling all across the cemetery. When a hand breaks the surface, the earth gives a final, heart-breaking whimper- and stills.

The hand claws at the surface, nails scratching and tearing at the grass. Raphael stops Alec from getting up to help. "He has to do that himself," he says.

Simon takes his time making his way out of the grave, but then again- it's a_ grave_ he has to get out of, so Alec reckons he'd cut him some slack.

When Simon's finally out, he's barely recognizable- brown with earth, crazed by bloodlust. He jumps Alec before even Raphael has time to react. He tries to bite Alec's neck but misses- leaving deep teeth marks on his shoulder. Simon roars with rage and dives in again. Raphael's fist stops him from draining all the blood in Alec's system. Landing a few feet away like a cat, the newborn vampire doesn't seem fazed. When he tries to launch again, Raphael pins him down with a single arm, a mighty growl tearing out of his throat. Simon doesn't flinch, instead, he tries to bite his Sire. Raphael gives another roar and slams Simon's head on the ground until the other stops struggling. When Raphael lets him go, Simon doesn't move, but his eyes follow him intently.

When a blood bag is thrown his way, Simon seems content to forget all about staying still and quiet. He drains the whole thing in a matter of minutes, his hunger immense and insatiable. The second blood portion seems to have the same fate.

"What are we gonna do now?" blood mars Simon's face like war paint. "We can't bring him home like that."

"He will stay with us for a few days." Raphael's eyes do not leave Simon. "He'll go home when he's ready." Inclining his head towards Alec, he continues, "You should go as well, Alexander."

"Why did I come in the first place?"

"Would you have rather not to?"

Alec shakes his head. He'd never trust a vampire enough to let them alone. He had to make sure Simon would indeed rise, if only for his conscious' sake.

"Will you tell me when he's ready to go home?"

Raphael blinks. "If you'd like."

Alec nods.

"Alright then. Run along, Shadowhunter, I shall see you soon."

Alec leaves with a single glance back. All he sees is Simon's red eyes and bloodied mouth. He practically runs away.

Jumping over the cemetery's wall, he runs, breathless, until he's back on Broadway. Halfway on his way back, he changes direction and heads for Park Slope. It takes him less time to arrive there than to gather the courage to knock on Clary's door.

She opens the door in green pajamas and bare feet, her hair a halo around her head. She seems surprised. Alec can't blame her.

"Alec?"

"I have something to tell you."

She blinks at him, still sleepy and very confused. "Is it about Jace?"

For once, it isn't. He shakes his head. "Simon."

A crease appears between her brows, he expression concerned. "What about him?"

He wonders if it's the sane thing to do to tell her. He doesn't think it is, but he reckons he won't be able to sleep otherwise. For once, he'd like to be juvenile. To be the guy that isn't mature, isn't the bigger person- who's not responsible for anyone or anything. To be someone who'd not care about Simon, or Clary and her feelings, or feel guilty over the fact he forgot all about dinner.

"He'd dead."

"No, he's not," is Clary's automatic response. Her eyes widen as her brain registers what was said. "What?"

"We were at the vampires' nest. He got killed."

She almost falls over. "You can't be serious." At his solemn expression, her eyes glaze over and tears fall down her cheeks. She doesn't even notice, doesn't make a move to wipe them away. "It can't be true," she whispers. "No, Simon's- he's not-he _can't_-"

"He's a vampire now." At that, Clary falls to her knees. She stares up at him for some explanation. He tries to calm his voice. "He ingested some of Raphael's blood when you went to rescue him after Magnus' party. After he was killed, he rose as a vampire."

"How can that be- wha- how?" Clary's voice is like the quiet before the storm. It's eerily steady, stuttering like her thought process but clear otherwise. "Were you there?" she finally asks. Alec nods.

"Was… did it hurt?" she asks with tears silently streaming down her face. She looks heartbroken. Alec doesn't know the answer, but assumes it's positive. He shakes his head 'no' for her sake.

"It was like falling asleep." Clary's sobs do not soften. Her skin turns red and blotched, but her eyes remain open. They are green and accusing. His words seem to have triggered her anger.

"Why didn't you save him?" she demands. "You could've, couldn't you?" her small frame is shaking terribly, like a leaf caught in a tornado. Although he's never liked her- maybe he won't, ever- Alec still wants to comfort her. To get the 'it's all gonna be alright' he didn't receive out into the night air.

"Why didn't you save him?" Clary cries out again.

Alec figures 'because I didn't have enough time to react' would not appease her, so he settle for "I tried", although he doesn't feel as if he did.

"Did you?" she shoots back. Her eyes are fervid with loss, but her words are sharp and true. Alec doesn't respond. Standing there like a salt pillar, he realizes it's the first time he's been responsible for death.

He bolts, Clary's tears and pain at his coattails.

x

New York is a mash of lights and people even when the night surrenders to the sun. The clamor is a permanent, semi-charming feature of the city, consistent and reliable like a heartbeat. Plundering through the streets, Alec is grateful for the pandemonium of clubbers, dog-owners and joggers filtering in and out of his vision. He blends into the background like he always has, small and unimportant- another hay in the stack. His feet carry him onwards through alleys and backyards. He sticks to the shadows and the walls, uncertain if he should even bother.

"Watch it!" a gruff voice scolds him. The man is about forty, unshaved with a skull inked onto his temple. The blond woman at his side gives Alec a nasty glare, her nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight of him.

"Brat," she spits. "Gosh, the kids these days can't even walk properly." Alec mumbles an apology for something he didn't do and veers away. No one seems to notice the torn clothes and the bloody shoulder. He wonders if it's because of him, or is it them.

He makes it to Coffey Park without knowing why. Green fills his vision, but all he can think of is Clary's eyes. He almost steps on a cat's tail as he walks on. It gives him a scandalized mewl and a glare. Its eyes are golden. Alec mumbles another apology.

A sudden, strong gust of wind and a crackle make Alec turn around. He runs into a firm chest and a familiar set of arms.

"It's been eight hours," Magnus informs him briskly. Alec keeps his mouth shut and body rigid. "If I'd known you'd get lost on your way to the market, I would have come with you." Magnus' voice softens a fraction. Alec looks up. Magnus' smile slips.

"What happened?" Magnus asks, a hand brushing against Alec's injured shoulder. He's noticed. Something tightens in Alec's chest.

"I killed Simon," he tells the warlock, and leans his forehead in the crook of Magnus' neck. "He's dead and it's all my fault."

"I find it really hard to believe, honey," Magnus tells him. His hold around Alec tightens.

"How do you know? You weren't there," Alec whispers without lifting his head.

"Because I know you, Alexander, and you'd never hurt anyone if you can help it." Magnus' voice is strong and reassuring. "If something happened to Simon, it's because there was nothing you could do."

"I wasn't fast enough," Alec mumbles. The hands on his back move across his skin in circles, rubbing in comfort with slow, deliberate motions. "I saw him coming and I didn't move in time."

"It's alright to fall short, sweetheart," Magnus' fingers twine in his hair, their movement soothing. One of his hands keeps on rubbing his back.

Alec doesn't think he deserves the coddling.

His head snaps up. "No, it's not," he says hotly and steps out of reach. "I have never killed a demon and now I have killed a human. Tell me it's alright."

Magnus' eyes soften. For the first time, Alec sees his age reflected around his irises, true and substantial- rumors and silly little stories banished. His gaze is steady, unyielding to Alec's words, his guilt, Clary's blame or the memory of Simon's life disappearing in fat, red drops on the floor of a remote hotel. The hands are back in Alec's hair, forcing his face up.

"Simon's death is not your fault, Alexander," he tells him. "You were not the one to kill him, and I believe he would have ended up dead with or without you there. You gave him a chance."

"He's a vampire because of me!" Alec's screech doesn't change Magnus' expression. "He is dead-"

"_Un_dead-"

"Because of me." Alec's voice cracks. "Clary was right, I didn't do enough-"

"Now, get that thought out of your head, darling-"

"I could've saved him!"

Alec's eyes sting. "Could you?" Magnus asks. "Look me in the eye and tell me you could have saved Simon. Say that it was totally in your power to do so and you've simply decided not to because you just didn't feel like saving a mundie."

Alec heaves a deep breath and presses himself against Magnus. "I could've done _something_…" he murmurs into his shirt. It's simple and soft, cotton without glitter, something Magnus wouldn't be caught dead in outside of bed. It warms Alec's heart to know Magnus was in such a rush to go looking for him he didn't bother changing into something more glamorous. Or warm.

Magnus rests his chin on Alec's head. "You've done all you could, dear," he says over and over again. His words meld together; an alloy of sounds Alec can barely identify washing over his ears. The sweet sound of comfort lulls him into a false sense of security.

Morning dawns upon them, but neither moves. It's long before they make it back home.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Quién es usted_- who are you?

_Mentiroso_ –Liar.

_Ojos azules - _Bright blue eyes._**(Thank you Dann for correcting! *la sigh* here I was hoping my Spanish nickname googling were worth a damn; any suggestions for a nickname that has to do with, well, blue eyes?)**_

_Probablemente no- probably not._

_Carne_- flesh.

_Él es de mi propia sangre_- he is of my own blood.

_Porque un niño nos ha nacido, un hijo nos ha sido dado__- 'For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given'_ _(Isaiah 9:6)_

If any of the lurkers reading this finds anything horribly, ridiculously wrong with my attempt at Spanish (I don't speak it, so the chances are rather high) please feel free to drop a note and correct me.

Excerpt from next chapter:

_"Duck." Alec does without thinking. He's not fast enough. Something hits his shoulder. A spell like a wreck ball. He ends up on the floor again._

(You think if I offer cookies for reviews it'd work?)


	4. 03: Offering

Google Translate stuff, though in this chapter (in my personal opinion) it's better if you check the A/Ns after you've read the whole thing untranslated to get the feel I was going for. The long-ass conversation in Spanish is meant to be sort of vague. **  
**

* * *

**03: Offering**

Of the three potions Magnus has tried to remold- onlyonehad any visible effect on Alec; it turned his skin blue. One almost blew up the loft. Neither stopped the progress of the curse.

The following days are spent in silence as all three of them huddle around paper sheets and coffee, the television mute in the background.

At first they are hunters, hungry and ferocious. They circle and pounce, teeth bared and eyes alight. Knowledge runs away, eluding and evasive, a perfectly adjusted to black-on-white print chameleon. It skips from one page to the other, light and swift like a fire, but they are relentless and stubborn enough to keep chase. They retire with hope still burning, just a step behind their prey.

The second day is disheartening, but in an entirely predictable manner. Encouraged by the volleys, they run forwards, chasing what they can no longer pick the scent of among the tome's destruction. The game is no less determined, quick and cunning it remains unseen and uncaught.

On the third day- they are lost amongst pages, words and incantations. On the fourth, they have scouted most of the land. On the fifth they yield and remain stationary, hope lost- too many potions already brewed and rejected.

Jace suggests trying looking elsewhere. Magnus gives him a level look and tells him he _won't find it anywhere else_. Jace glares. "At this rate, we won't find it here either," he says and takes off, door slamming behind him. He comes back a few hours later with a name of a potion he's managed to extracts from a warlock he got the name of through Izzy's- admittedly questionable- social circle. Magnus' smile is all teeth and no humor when he tells him, "It's the one that made him blue."

Jace sticks to the stolen tome after that.

On the sixth morning that Alec is still turning human Izzy has to face a mission alone. Alec begs her to refuse it, ask for someone else to deal with the Raum demon in the bay.

"I can't," she tells him. "Don't worry, I can handle it."

He doesn't hear from her for hours. Alec spends the whole day in the training room, going through Katas and punching the air in frustration, one of Magnus' CDs stuck on a loop for company. Alec's body grows slower by the minute, muscles losing the extra flexibility the runes had gifted them with, his eyes growing unfocused, his lungs weakened. His body aches and screams, but he does not yield until he's blinded by the sweat trickling into his eyes. Shaking his head like a dog, he keeps on moving, steady motions cutting the air about him.

"Hello, handsome," Magnus' voice greets him from the door. Alec doesn't spare him a glance. Spinning, he kicks out the invisible enemy before him, turning again to elbow the air to his right and duck from an attack no one but him can see.

"I appreciate a sweating, shirtless Shadowhunter as much as the next sparkly warlock but don't you think you're pushing it, darling?"

Alec tackles the air with a vicious punch, using his momentum to roll, land on all fours and deliver a low kick.

"Izzy's gone," he tells Magnus, but doesn't bother with eye contact. "She's out there all alone and," he kicks out, adds "I'm," spins, hisses out "-_stuck_-" throws out a fist and grumbles bitterly, "-here."

"It's nice here," Magnus argues, a finger trailing the intricate design on the walls. "The décor is fabulous."

Alec's strikes become harsher. "I don't care," he snaps. "I'm turning human and my sister's all alone facing a demon." With a particularly cruel swipe, he whirls around, eyes blazing.

"True," Magnus nods. "Is that why you're killing yourself fighting air?"

Alec turns away from him and resumes his previous actions. Magnus seems content standing there and watching. By the time the CD's looped enough for him to recognize the tunes, Magnus asks whether he'd like a challenge. Alec grumbles an affirmative and a second later something hits his back. His brain doesn't catch up fast enough so he lands on hands and knees and rolls onto his side, one wrist spraining in the process.

"The hell?"

Magnus frowns. He seems concerned. Alec shrugs and gets up, wincing when the movement takes its toll on his wrist. "You were supposed to be able to dodge it."

"Maybe if you'd have bothered _warning_ me-"

"Duck."

Alec does without thinking. He's not fast enough. Something hits his shoulder. A spell like a wreck ball. He ends up on the floor again.

"You were supposed to dodge that." Panic seeps into the warlock's voice. Alec gets up and levels him with a stare. He's not going to let him think he's gotten that much worse in a week. He can't. Won't. He didn't.

"Let's try this again," he says. Magnus opens his mouth to protest, but Alec interrupts before he can, "Come on."

Magnus' jaw tightens, but he remains silent. With a flick of his wrist, the spell hits Alec's back again. He can't even hear it sailing through the air, can't sense the crackle of magic or sudden movement. He groans but stands up again, gesturing for Magnus to continue.

He won't lose, not to it, or her, or him.

He gets beat by the first ten. Magnus seems more reluctant to summon the spell each time Alec ends up sprawled on the floor. Alec doesn't let him. His body gradually adjusts to the pain and the speed Alec demands of it. His muscles scream. Alec keeps pushing and a rhythm is created.

Hit, fall, up.

Hit, down, stand.

It's an hour before he feints the first hit. Magnus seems surprised. When the second, third and fourth miss just as spectacularly, and a smirk grows on Alec's sweaty features, he finally asks, "How?"

"You're very predictable." Alec shrugs. Magnus lifts an eyebrow, his eyes somewhat hopeful. "Try again." Magnus does. Several times, in quick succession. Alec parries.

"Who's Amy?" Alec asks after a while, but doesn't cease moving. Magnus gives him a dumbfounded look.

"I haven't the faintest. And you're avoiding the subject."

"All of the boys and all of the girls," Alec grinds as he moves about the room, sweat beads gliding from temple to jaw. "Are begging to if you seek Amy." He almost hums the words along with the muted sound of the playing music.

The spell misses again.

Magnus laughs at his words. An evil glint enters his eyes before he says, "Are begging to if you seek Amy." He joins Alec's dance on the mats, expertly deflecting his halfhearted swings. There are no more spells, just dry hits of skin against skin.

Alec aims for the warlock's stomach. Magnus moves to the side, but Alec's knuckles graze his ribs, trashing his balance. Using the opportunity, he goes for a kick. Magnus' long fingers wind around his calf and he repeats, "Are begging to if you seek Amy" before letting go. Alec growls somewhere in the back of his throat and lunges. Magnus keeps on humming. Alec's fist is only a few inches from Magnus' nose when he hears it. "All of the boys and all of the girls are begging to f.u.c.k me," Magnus whispers in his ear before smacking his arm away and tripping him. Alec squawks indignantly.

"And that statement, honey, is especially accurate without your shirt on," Magnus tells him with a wink.

Alec's cheeks flood with red. Magnus laughs and leans down to whisper, "You look hot when you blush."

Alec groans and lets his head hit the mats. He stares intently at the ceiling, still burning with embarrassment. "Don't say things like that."

"Why? It's true."

Alec doesn't answer. Magnus settles next to him.

"How'd you figure it out?" he asks. "I didn't even realize I was doing it."

Alec tilts his head to the right so he can see Magnus' face. "I've been listening," he mumbles. "And I know you."

Magnus smiles. "I'm impressed."

"You should be," Alec huffs. "I actually got the rhythm right."

"You got more than just that right," Magnus mutters before leaning in. They kiss slow and messy, but Alec's too tired to care. His brain shuts down- thoughts, worries and distractions shoved to the side.

Giving in feels good, relaxing. It's been a while since he's felt that way.

When they break apart, breathless, Magnus' mouth is shaped into a wide, satisfied grin. His eyes glim. "Have I told you I think found our potion?"

Alec's surprise is painstakingly obvious. Magnus has barely the time to boast before the Shadowhunter springs and engulfs him in a tight hug. Neither can breathe.

"You are welcome," Magnus murmurs into his hair. Alec doesn't let go. "But you should know it's not exactly easy to make."

Alec's smile is brilliant when he lifts his head. "But it's _possible_," he says. Magnus smiles in return.

"Thanks," Magnus cocks an eyebrow, his grin quickly morphing into a sly smirk.

"Oh, you can thank me-" he laughs when Alec colors. Alec pulls Magnus up, murmuring something about brewing, heading decidedly towards the exit. Magnus lets him, but they don't make it two steps before he is kissing Alec again- stalling their purposeful motion.

"You are procrastinating." Magnus covers Alec's mouth with a laugh. Alec shuts up without protest, tangling his fingers in soft, black hair instead.

When they pull for air, the warlock murmurs, "I love procrastinating," and kisses Alec again. "Procrastinating is my favorite pastime activity."

Alec rolls his eyes, "I thought _I_ was your favorite pastime activity." Magnus grins.

"You're somewhere down that list." The syllables grow fainter as Alec trails a path down Magnus' throat, faint, red marks left behind. Magnus' breath becomes uneven, and Alec can feel his pulse stutter against his mouth.

"_Somewhere_?" He pulls on Magnus hair until they're face to face again, too close for Alec's eyes to be able to focus. Stray hands rake up and down Alec's sides, one settling on his shoulder, the other pulling him by the belt loops. Alec groans. He thinks the blur that's Magnus' face in front of him grins.

The smile widens as Alec moves to nip under Magnus' jaw. "Keep that up and you'll move-" a moan. Alec grins. "-up to top three."

"Stop talking." Magnus complies. His back hits the wall with a loud _thud_. Neither cares; the wall doesn't complain.

Magnus twists them around, and Alec finds his shoulder blades digging painfully into the wall behind him. The protest dies in his throat as soon as Magnus' mouth settles on a spot beneath his ear, gentle hot breath a ghost against Alec's wet skin. Alec's breath escapes him. He shuts his eyes but the colors seep in, staining the dark.

He feels Magnus' mouth curve against his skin into a smirk. Alec figures Magnus ought to put it to better use- so he cranes his neck and pull his head in, crashing lips.

The light filtering through the single window shifts gradually, already dim when they separate- lips swollen, skin red, eyes glimming and dilated. They leave the training room reluctantly. Alec doesn't realize he has the look of total debauchery before Jace comments on it.

"Someone's been busy," he says as soon as they enter the living room, the papers strewn across his lap forgotten. He gives Alec a grin, his eyebrows lifting and lowering several times in one fluid motion. Alec's face reinvents the color red. He doesn't try to deny it this time though, the hurt look on Magnus' face still clear in his mind. Jace won't believe him anyway. "I did wonder how come you didn't get kicked out as I did."

"I have my ways," Magnus replies with a sly grin.

"I can see that." Jace laughs at Alec's scandalized face.

"Also, I came bearing good news."

"He's found the potion," Alec exclaims, clamping a hand to the hickey on his neck Jace has been eying. Jace's head snaps back in surprise. His eyes widen, looking for confirmation. Magnus gets a crumpled paper from his breast pocket and unfolds it. Jace scrambles up in haste, the ancient paper sheets on his lap slipping to the floor.

The sixth day is the salvation no one expected to find.

"How the hell are we supposed to get the hoof of an Empusa?" Jace asks as his eyes scan the ingredients of the potion on the crumpled papyrus.

"There's a market in Staten Island for those kinds of exquisite goods."

"Do they happen to sell Lamia teeth too?"

"Yes."

"Hair from a Kirin's mane?"

"Yes."

"Rusalka scales?"

"I think it's logical to assume they do," Alec interrupts before Magnus opens his mouth to drawl something about Jace's apparent lack of common sense. "Is there anything in there you don't know where to get?"

Magnus' clicks his tongue. "Human blood," he says. "We all know where to get that, but I thought I'd share before I mix it in with your drink."

Alec shifts. "Do I have to become a serial killer now?"

Magnus shakes his head. "Easy, Dexter. The potion requires the blood of the assumed form- in your case, human. It doesn't specify how fresh it should be." Alec makes a face at that. "It also requires Shadowhunter blood, but that's easy enough to get," Magnus continues with a smirk. "We can just drain Golden Boy."

"Should we approach the vampires about the blood?" Alec completely ignores Magnus' comment. Jace tries to fry him with his eyes, grumbling profanities loudly enough for them to get the gist of it, but not the actual words.

Magnus' face twists in distaste. Alec can't decipher if it's due to Jace's childish antics or his suggestion. "No one should ever approach vampires."

"Unless they want blood," Jace deadpans. "In which case they don't really have a choice."

"There are blood banks, you know?" Magnus interjects, face sour. "And I happen to know a gorgeous clerk from NYBC. Looks like Kate Moss before she went Corpse Bride, can tell your blood type with a glance."

Alec can't tell if Magnus' voice softens or is it his ears malfunctioning. Something unpleasant twists in his gut. He wonders how Magnus 'happened to know' her.

"Mind introducing me?" Jace inquires.

"You have Clary," Magnus tells him. "Polygamy is frowned upon these days."

Jace lips reveal perfectly white teeth. His grin is wicked in its joy, a dozen kinds of charming oozing of every skin pore. It makes Alec's heart beat painfully. "There's always room for someone as hot as Kate Moss." Jace says.

Magnus eyes him critically. "She's out of your league, darling. You're the tramp to her lady."

"They end up together in that movie."

"True, but life isn't a Disney cartoon," Magnus taunts. "And you are _not_ a sweet, furry mutt. Well, not sweet anyway. It's hard to deny the other two."

"Isn't it simpler to just nick some blood bags with magic?" Alec cuts in, stomach rolling and throat dry. Magnus cocks an eyebrow.

"You think they won't notice?"

"Vampires do it."

"Vampires have connections."

"Apparently, so do you," Alec almost snaps. There's something dark in his voice he does not want to dwell on. He hates the name Kate. "How long before she can get us some blood?"

"Depends on how long it'll take her to pick up the phone," Magnus says, summoning his cellphone with a snap of his fingers. It's small, sleek and black- responding quickly when Magnus' fingers poke at it. Alec marvels about it as they await an answer. Alec isn't sure he wants one.

Magnus' face brightens abruptly. "Helena!" Alec frowns. So her name's Helena. "How've you been, hon?" Magnus is far too excitable. A short silence, "Fabulous, more so than usual." He laughs. "Yes." A pause. "Obviously, yeah. My favorite combo, just like Will." Who's Will? "Is that so? We should totally meet up, drag 'em along. Do some shopping while they mope." The silence this time is longer. Magnus looks sheepish when he says, "I know, and darling, believe me- it burdens me every day. Your voice is like music, seriously." Alec grits his teeth. He can hear them creek. "-Yeah, a potion. Mm, for him. No, not much, two portions should be enough. Uh, wait a sec-" Magnus turns to Alec. "What's your blood type?"

"O."

"Oddly fitting," Magnus says before he's back on the phone. "O. Yes, thank you, sweetie. I know, yeah. For real?" he seems amused, "I've been there. Service is shit, but they make one mean cheese soufflé and the waiters are surprisingly attractive." Another laugh. So now there are waiters to worry about, too. "'Course. Yeah. Make it work." Magnus' grin widens. "Oh, I _know_ hon. And I'd look better in that suit." He hangs up with another clear, loud laugh and a 'Chao'. He snaps his fingers again and two blood bags appear on the table.

"What was the phone call for if you just stole those anyway?" Jace demands, baffled.

"So she'll write them off as hospital supplies. No need to raise suspicion amongst mundanes." Magnus turns to Alec with a wolfish grin. "So, shall we?"

Alec nods.

x

Raphael makes it to the Center as early as possible, out of the hotel as soon as the sun has settled beneath the sea. He heads to one the employee's back doors, lodged on the other side of the large building, far enough from the glassy, front entrance. It's the same faded, brown color as the door to the garage next to it, both locked for the night. Leigh comes a few minutes later, a small key in his palm.

"Raphael," he greets. Raphael barely nods. Leigh rolls his pretty blue eyes and storms to the door, key held like a weapon. He jams it into the lock ferociously, twisting until there's a faint _click_ indicating surrender.

"You have absolutely no common courtesy," Leigh tells him as they pass the door and lock it. The room is dark and soundless in the afterhours- a vacant store-room full of bandages, sterile gloves and syringes.

"I believe we'll both agree you are not _common_," Raphael replies briskly. Neither bothers to switch on the lights- their eyes making a quick adjustment. Leigh's face twists in a snarl.

"Only if we both agree you're a bastard," he mutters. Raphael doesn't even bother glaring. He doesn't look back as he strolls out of the room, certain Leigh would follow. He does. They walk through the pristine halls in smothering silence, full of unspoken, yet plainly obvious mutual distaste. From the corner of Raphael's eye, Leigh is a blur of auburn hair and painfully tight black clothes.

It's been two weeks since he last saw him, months since they were civil to each other, years since they has more than bites and rage to offer one another.

"Stop staring at me," Leigh snaps at him as they turn to another deserted hall. Raphael lifts an eyebrow.

"Your eyesight is lacking."

Leigh snorts. "Right," he says, "you were staring at the _wall_ behind my head."

"It's far more attractive than you," Raphael shoots back. "It's probably far more intelligent as well."

Leigh growls, shoves past Raphael's shoulder and slams the door to the main hall open. The clerk behind the reception desk jumps with a shriek.

"Do you mind not scaring the shit out of me every single time?" she demands, whirling on them with a scowl. It might have been intimidating were she a little more stable on her heels.

"Blame him," Leigh grumbles. The girl glowers at Raphael. He shrugs. The motion deepens her scowl, her face darkening in annoyance.

"Both of you are insufferable," she tells them, settling back on her chair. "How much do you need this time?"

Raphael leans against the table. Leigh scoots away. "About forty," he answers.

"It's more than usual," the girl murmurs. She bends down to retrieve a clipboard, grabbing a pen from the table top. She writes something down in haste and hands Leigh the clipboard and the pen. "Do your thing."

"Thanks, Hell."

"Don't call me that."

Leigh grins.

"It's _Helena_," her voice is harsh, but her expression remains mildly affectionate. "With your memory, you should've gotten it by now."

Leigh _hm_-s in response. He gets to work, writing down social security and ID numbers to be identified with the missing blood. Raphael has no idea how he gets them- or how come no one has ever noticed- but the center seems to believe the blood serves humans, not the entire New York vampire coven.

Raphael stares at the growing list of names with disinterest. When Leigh's done, he shoves it in his face with an irritated, "There".

Raphael scans his work without a word. His eyes stop on the last name Helena's filled in. _Marcus Bane._

"Is that a human?" he asks Helena, pointing at the name. She chuckles.

"Nope." Helena smiles. "But that's what I always fill for Magnus. It was his idea. It's some dude in Binghamton with a niece up here."

"Magnus as in Magnus Bane?" Leigh seems surprised. Helena nods.

"That's the one."

Raphael's eyes narrow. He remembers smelling magic on the blue-eyed Shadowhunter boy he's met a week ago. Magic leaves a peculiar scent- sharp and pungent like a lemon- distinctive and unique for each warlock and witch. He's met a witch with the scent of raspberries once. Magnus Bane stinks of ink and rain.

Alexander Lightwood smelled the same.

"Did he tell you what he needs it for?"

"A potion."

"For whom?"

Helena gives him an odd look. "His boyfriend."

"Does he happen to have blue eyes?" At that, Helena turns outright suspicious.

"Yes," she offers after a contemplative moment. "How do you know?"

"Never mind that. Can you give me an empty bag?" she nods, leaning further back on her chair when his glare intensifies. "Good, so we're done here," he practically growls at her, shoving the clipboard in her chest. She gives him a nasty look, so he adds _gracias_. Helena nods, takes the board and gives them both a wry look.

"Break anything while I'm in the storage and I'll break your necks," she threatens before turning away and heading to bring the blood.

"What was that about?" Leigh asks as soon as she's out of range.

"None of your business."

"What business do _you_ have with Magnus Bane?" Leigh's usually light tenor is an octave deeper. He's seething. "He's the High Warlock of Brooklyn, isn't he?"

Raphael nods absentmindedly but doesn't say anything.

"Is it about his boyfriend?"

Raphael remains quite. High warlock or not, Bane must be a moron to try and heal Alexander with the blood Helena can offer. If he swallows a potion with it- he'll drop dead after the first sip.

Helena returns with a something like a picnic cooler in tow. It's large and neon-blue, heavy with forty portions of blood. She opens it for them to see and count the bags. When they're done, Raphael takes the empty bag Helena offers him. He seals the container and hands it to Leigh.

"Take it back to the _guarida,_" he commands. "I have something else to tend to."

Before they part ways outside the Center, Leigh grips Raphael's shoulder. "I don't like this."

"I don't care," Raphael tells him sincerely. "Let go."

Leigh does. Raphael is gone seconds later, heading to _Pandemonium_. He doesn't want to risk it on the streets. They're always too crowdy in New York, always some wannabe hero in close proximity.

His journey is uneventful but quick; he arrives at the club fifteen-minutes later. He doesn't bother with the line, sliding past the bouncer too quickly for him to even notice. He's inside the club and on the dance floor in seconds.

Raphael's eyes scan the crowd hungrily, assessing the humans grinding against each other to the electronic beat. A young brunette catches his eye. She's short and lithe, her hair iron-curled and dump with sweat. Her outfit is tiny and unnoticeable. The only part of her anatomy that's covered properly is the length of her legs- knee high leather boots.

Her eyes are closed, but she moves flawlessly.

She looks like someone no one would look for.

Raphael's by her side in a heartbeat, grinning slyly. "Hello," he purrs. She lifts her eyes from his chest to stare into his eyes, and just like that- she's caught. He leans closer, filling her nose with pheromones, heating her skin with butterfly touches. "Wanna get out of here, _cariño_?"

He doesn't wait for an answer before dragging her away from the cluster of bodies and into the backroom. Thankfully, it's empty and dark.

The girl plasters herself to his back all the way, her breath warm against his neck. He turns and pins her to the wall.

She's the first to make contact, kissing him feverishly. Raphael can feel her pulse through her flesh, her heart hammering against her ribcage, desperate to reach him. He doesn't let her move, attacking her throat with his lips- sharp fangs grazing the surface of her skin. He doesn't bite, although he wants to. She seems to want it too, trashing against his body and placing her neck to his mouth with quiet, soft moans. Holding her head against the wall with one hand, he grips one wrist and pulls it closer, ignoring her pleas to take her neck. He bites down close to her vain, opening a wound. She doesn't struggle as he thought she might.

Pulling the plastic bag from his back pocket, Raphael presses it against the bleeding wrist. The bag slowly fills- opaque white turning bright red. When he's done, his victim is a supple weigh supported by the wall. He laps at the torn skin until it heals. Her blood is bitter with the tang of alcohol and arousal.

Raphael pulls away with great difficulty, teeth still sharp and extended, body still aching for human blood. The bag is warm against his palm.

He turns away and exits, the girl left alone at the wall. He makes his way out of _Pandemonium _and deeper into Brooklyn, moving as fast as his legs can carry him, navigating through the dimly illuminated streets and pitch-black alleyways. Rushing past houses and stores, he makes it to State Street faster than he thought.

He can recognize the warlock's den without knowing the exact address. It's an old Victorian relic of red bricks and gaping, white-framed sash windows, immersed with a thin web of crackling, golden magic threads. Like a cage, it girts the house with sheer, flickering bars. Raphael stops before it in hesitation.

Reaching out a tentative finger, he pokes at the barrier. It sends static up his arm and straight up his spine- a tingling feeling that is not entirely uncomfortable, barely even hostile. He goes past the magic barrier and enters the building.

A blond boy opens the door on the second knock. He's familiar.

"Raphael," the boy greets. There are runes peeking from beneath the collar of his shirt. A Shadowhunter. The one who came to save Simon Lewis the first time around.

Jace, Alexander has called him.

Raphael nods. "Invite me in?"

Jace leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. Raphael briefly wonders what Valentine's spawn has to do with the High Warlock of Brooklyn. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you care for Alexander Lightwood's life." Raphael doesn't know that for sure, but he has heard the rumors about the Wayland and Lightwood alliance even before the notion of Valentine was thrown into the mix.

Jace eyes him wryly, but doesn't object. "Come in," he says and steps back to allow Raphael entrance. Raphael strolls past him, following his nose to where the smell of potion brewing is most prominent. He ends up in the kitchen, face to face with Alexander, Jace a few steps behind him.

"_Mi chico_," the boy is a delightful sight."_Cómo estas_?" Alexander's blue eyes widen in surprise. Raphael leans closer. "_Todavía te estás convirtiendo en ser humano__?_".

From the glazed look in the boy's eyes- he is- fast and hard. Still washed with pheromones from his encounter in the club, the vampire's body acts as a magnet, a field force Alexander has no way to fight off. It's stronger this time, the pull almost immediate. Raphael grins. Alexander takes a step forward into his personal space, fingers tightening on the soft fabric of his shirt.

"What are you doing here, Santiago?" an arm snakes around Alexander's middle before he can plaster himself to Raphael's form completely. Raphael's eyes snap up to see one furious warlock.

"Preventing _you_ from killing _him_," Bane's cat eyes narrow. He doesn't seem to appreciate the effort.

Pulling Alexander away, he huffs, "Oh really?" as though he really meant _screw you_.

"Am I missing something?" Jace asks behind Raphael's back. "Alec's into Polygamy and no one's told me?"

"Trust me, he isn't," Bane's tone is as acrid as the glare he throws Raphael. The vampire smiles at him innocently.

"Have you mixed in the blood yet?" he asks. Bane covers his surprise at this tidbit of information Raphael shouldn't possess almost too well. He sees it though- a slight widening of the eyes, a crackle of the magic around him, a twitch of his fingers on Alexander's chest.

"No," he retorts suspiciously. "Why?"

Raphael throws the bagged blood at him, forcing him to release the entrapped Shadowhunter in order to catch it. Alexander immediately steps closer, eyes glazed. "Because the moment you do and he drinks it- the Lightwoods will lose their heir."

This time, Jace is the one to keep Alexander away from him when he steps closer. Raphael scowls. "I won't bite."

There's a dangerous glint in the blonde's eyes when he snarls, "Oh, I know you won't", as if it's a threat. It probably is.

"Where did you get that?" Bane's tone is disgusted. Raphael exhales slowly through his nose, feebly trying to hold back from lashing at the pompous moron.

"I'm sure you can figure it out," he says. "Use it."

"Why should I?"

"It'll save his life."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

Raphael rolls his eyes and stalks to the brewing cauldron by the counter. Dipping in a random glass snatched from the table, he takes some of the potion to prove his point. "Where's your blood?" he asks.

"In the fridge," Jace answers. "Should I lock him somewhere?" he asks Bane, nodding at Alexander. Bane shakes his head grimly, barely taking his eyes off Raphael.

Raphael takes out one of the blood bags stored on the top shelf of the fridge and adds a small portion to the glass he's holding. The potion turns from light orange to moss. Unceremoniously, Raphael spills the glass' contents into a nearby pot. The plant sizzles and dies.

"_Ahora me cree__, brujo_?"

The warlock's face winds into an ugly, scornful grimace, fists furling by his sides. "How did you know?" he stresses the first word, almost spitting it.

"I have my ways."

Bane doesn't seem pleased with the answer. Nonetheless, he grabs a wooden-spoon and pulls open the blood-bag Raphael has presented. He pours its contents and stirs the mixture, chanting incantations Raphael can hear but not decipher the meaning of. The warlock's body glows as his voice gets stronger, casting a green tint on the entire room. When Bane's murmurs die, a strong flash illuminates the room, a lightning strike of burning, White Magia Raphael can barely stand the heat of.

Protection spells, is his best guess. Most likely against every sort of poison Bane knows the antidote to. Raphael feels almost hurt at the plain distrust.

With the last incantation uttered, the potion turns the same jade color as before, yet it seems more vibrant, brilliant and saturated. When the warlock scoops some of it with the spoon and pours it against another plant- it remains alive.

Raphael has the urge to parrot _I told you so_ over and over until Bane admits he's not good enough. He's unsure what, exactly, he's not good enough _for_, but he doesn't care for the details.

Bane fills a glass with the clear, green liquid and offers it to Alexander. The boy drinks it without shifting his intense stare. Bane checks his watch. "Thirteen minutes past eight. The potion requires regime. We'll need more blood tomorrow by eight." He doesn't look at Raphael, his eyes firmly trained on the boy before him, but his voice suggests none too gently that he'd better be on time _or else_.

When the glass empties, the last of the green liquid gone, Alexander remains the same. Jace's arms tighten their hold on their captive.

"Shouldn't he be normal now?"

Bane's answer is a frustrated grumble, "It might take hours until he's remotely 'normal'." The warlock glowers at Raphael, his next words forced out through clenched teeth, "And the fact you're oozing pheromones does _not_ help." He turns to Jace. "It'll be three hours until the potion has any effect at all. It'll start slowing down the process. It won't regress it, just minimize the shifts to his essence."

"How much slower will it get?"

"Without it he has a month," Bane's expression is bitter. "Now he'll have-" he trails off, narrowing his eyes in calculation. "About four."

"Not terribly effective, your potion," Raphael drawls. Bane huffs and with a snap of his fingers an obnoxiously pink air-freshener appears in his palm. Bane proceeds in emptying its contents all over Raphael. As the spray empties, so do Alexander's eyes, the lust dimmed as a new fragrance covers the raging vampire-pheromones. The boy gives Raphael a glare when he finally comes to his senses- no longer affected by his demonic allure.

"Do you mind not doing-" the boy's lips twist in distaste and his cheeks redden. "-_that_ every time I see you?"

"To be fair, I wasn't doing anything, _blue-eyes_."

The warlock's energy crackles behind him. It makes Raphael's grin widen maliciously.

"Being attractive is what vampires _do_," Raphael shrugs.

"I should claim copyright," Jace grumbles.

"Why did you come here?" Bane stalks forward, now in front of Alexander, positioned on the left of Jace- effectively silencing both.

"To see the new place. You've moved since Camille." Raphael leans back on the counter. "I like it. More furniture."

Magnus blurts a baffled, "What?".

"You know," looking from under thick, black eyelashes, Raphael sees comprehension settling onto the warlock's face a second too late. "Something more than a bed."

"Who's Camille?" Alexander's question comes unexpected for all of them, but terribly awkward for just one. Tension travels slowly up the warlock's spine, his form quickly turning rigid. So Alexander doesn't know; Raphael grins.

"Yet another lover," he explains just as Bane grumbles, "the evil ex."

"How many were there?"

Raphael's smile widens at Bane's grim expression. The warlock remains silent. The tension grows.

"Why are you here?" Jace asks before Alec has the opportunity to raise his voice again, exasperation coloring his words an ugly, dark shade. Raphael can see his head behind Bane's looming form, a feral snarl painted across the blonde's face.

"I have told you already. I was saving Alexan-"

"_Mierda_." Silence follows the warlock's sudden outburst. Raphael may be the only one to understand the word's meaning, but the tone is universal enough for both Shadowhunters to get the gist of it. Raphael marvels at the choice, wondering what, exactly, it is the warlock has left to hide. "_Qué quieres?_"

"_No es obvio?_"

"_No te acerques de él._" Raphael's expression seems to unnerve the warlock further, so he bites out "_él es mío_", although he seems unsure of his own statement. Alexander remains oblivious, and Raphael reckons it's a mistake to leave him uninformed of the warlock's true intentions.

"_No hay marca._" Raphael makes a feeble gesture towards his neck. Bane stares at him through slit cat eyes, his face shadowed ominously."_Usted no tiene ninguna reclamación sobre él._"

"_Más que usted_."

"_En serio?_"

"I don't _speak español_," Jace butts in the cockfight, clearly trying to dispel whatever murderous intent he can see building in their eyes.

"_Yo tampoco._" Everyone turns to stare at Alexander. When Bane's eyes land on his form, he stiffens and turns away, hurt. "That doesn't count," Alexander tells Jace, ignoring them both.

"It's more than I know!" Jace protests.

"You know how to ask 'do you come here often?' in seventy-two languages."

"Pick-up lines do not count either." Jace moves to block Alexander from both of them during their meaningless banter- a human shield that is effective and sufficiently subtle. As Raphael stares at the two of them, he wonders if perhaps Magnus Bane is not the only obstacle in his way.

"I think it's time for you to go," the warlock's announcement disrupts the moment. Bane doesn't seem too pleased and in that Raphael is willing to sympathize. He turns to him with a chuckle.

"I'll be back tomorrow with more," he says.

"Thank you," Alec's voice is soft and sincere. Raphael grins and shrugs. He can feel Bane's glower heating up his skin.

"No problem at all," Raphael replies before heading to the door. No one sees him to the exit but the awkward silence. He's out the door and down the stairs before a hand grips his shoulder and forcefully turns him around midstep.

"I need a favor," Jace tells him with urgent fire in his eyes.

"So you do." Raphael isn't willing to give in.

"From you."

Raphael cocks an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"If you won't do it, I'll report Simon's death to the Conclave."

Raphael's eyes harden before he mutters, "I thought the Children of the Angels were above blackmail."

"They are, but it doesn't necessarily reflect on me." With the slight light from upstairs, the boy's face is cast in shadow, only the bridge of his nose and golden, mischievous eyes visible. In that moment, he truly seems like Valentine's son.

"What do you need?"

"A bike. One of your kind."

"Why would you need that?"

The Shadowhunter seems reluctant to share his secrets, but Raphael is curious enough to risk pushing. "Rumor says you already own one."

"I do," Jace admits. "But it's stuck on the roof of the Institute. I can't exactly get it."

"When do you need it?"

"Tonight." Jace's eyes trail upward, towards a door on which _BANE_ is engraved. "The wards should be down."

Raphael nods. He can feel them weakening. "Should I throw rocks at you window, _amigo_?"

Jace grins. "Nah, just serenade."

* * *

**A/N:**

Here's what I hope the Spanish means (really really hope):

**Thanks to KairacahraFlower Goddess for correcting! **

_Guarida_- lair.

_Cariño- _honey.

_Todavía te estás convirtiendo en ser humano?- _are you still turning human?

_Ahora me cree, brujo?- _Do you believe me now, warlock?

___Yo tampoco- _me neither.

(I leave the conversation between Magnus and Raphael untranslated for a few reasons, one of them being the fact Alec's got no idea what they're saying, and although it's told from Raphael's pov, I want to keep the feeling, if just a bit. If you're curious- you can either pm me or translate it yourself. Maybe I'll put up the translation here later, as I'm not entirely certain how I should handle FF's formatting. I miss my word's footnotes :( )

Excerpt from the next chapter: _Alec doesn't know what to tell him; Jace is an issue he can barely admit to having, much less discuss with his boyfriend. He's the unresolved dirty laundry he's been keeping and hiding from the maid. He's the 'Do Not Touch- Fragile' stamp across his forehead. He's what Magnus can't and should not approach._

(Anyone 'sides me thinks CoB movie fucks up Alec's character, what with his omg-it's-so-tight-I-can't-breathe leather vest and Danny Zuko inspired hair?)


	5. 04: Aphasia

**04: Aphasia**

Raphael's departure leaves them strung up with furyand uncertainty, the residue of what has been said still settling in and around them. Neither pays attention when Jace mutters an excuse to go after the vampire. They stand apart, bodies taut and faces grim, fists clenched and trembling by their sides. Alec awaits the first hit which will dictate the entire quarrel, refusing to pull the trigger but craving the bullet, aching for a fight.

"I don't like him," Magnus finally says. Alec almost laughs.

"He saved my life."

"He had an entirely selfish reason for doing so."

"So do you."

"Desire is not the same as lo-" Magnus stops himself; it's an antebellum and a relief. The surrendered first syllable may not be as big as a whole admission, but it is strong enough to set aflame the bubbling anger in Alec's stomach. Fear clots his veins and his pulse turns erratic until the only sound he can hear is the rush of blood through his temples.

"I don't like the way he's looking at you," Magnus averts with a quiet, subdued tone Alec can barely hear through his surging panic.

"And I don't like Will, Camille and Helena." The names sear his tongue.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"It's got to do with _you_," Alec snaps, one hand weakly gesturing at Magnus and the space between them.

"I don't see the problem," Magnus tells him. "I'm with _you_."

"I don't see the problem, either." Alec barely keeps himself from lashing out. "Raphael was just looking."

"He wasn't _just_ looking, Alec."

"And were you _just_ dating them?" Magnus' eyes widen at Alec's tone and implication. "How many of 'them' are there?"

"Do you honestly expect someone as old as I," Magnus steps closer, looming over Alec and effectively enhancing what was an insubstantial height difference before. Only there are more than just a few centimeters between them now- there is jealousy and juvenile stubbornness, biting words and fervid flames of anger. There are centuries and a tally of bloodshed and hate to outlast them both. "-to live for centuries without falling in love?" Alec knows he shouldn't, really, yet he does. He expects a perfectly white tabula-rasa, and cannot, for the life of him, rationalize or regret it. "It only stands to logic that I have fallen for others before you."

"How many times have you fallen 'before me', exactly?"

"Enough." Magnus eyes are bright and determined, open and clear like a summer sky. "I am centuries old, Alec. You are barely eighteen and I met you already infatuated with someone else."

"Don't you dare go there-" Magnus' eye light at the implied threat.

"How's Jace any different?" he demands. Alec sucks in a breath. It's the first time someone has been so direct about his dirtiest secret since Clary. Rage festers inside him rapidly, demanding immediate release. He doesn't know what to say though, no response lying on the tip of his tongue, no quick fire to retaliate with.

"I think Jace's is a much bigger problem than any of my exes."

"Stop it," Alec demands, nearly growling. "_Stop_."

"Why should I?" There's arrogance in that statement, the confidence one feels when righteousness befalls him, when anger turns into indignity. Alec can't find a good enough reason other than 'I want you to', though he is certain they are well past considering hurt a good enough reason to stop.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, that's too bad, darling, because we're going to."

"We're _not_," Alec practically barks.

"Not talking about it is not going to make it go away, Alec." Magnus' eyes darken. "Jace-"

"I said _don't_."

Magnus' mouth clicks shut. "So it's alright to talk about me but not about you?"

Alec doesn't know what to tell him; Jace is an issue he can barely admit to having, much less discuss with his boyfriend. He's the unresolved dirty laundry he's been keeping and hiding from the maid. He's the 'Do Not Touch- Fragile' stamp across his forehead. He's what Magnus can't and should not approach.

"There's talking about me, and then there's talking about _that_," he says, as if it'd make sense to anyone but him. Magnus frowns at him.

"It's the same thing."

"No," Alec shakes his head. "It isn't," because he doesn't want to believe it is, because he's always treated it like a benign tumor radiation can't fight, a separate evil that has nothing to do with who Alexander Lightwood is or supposed to be.

The door opens and shuts discretely enough, but Alec is anxious for any excuse to cut the conversation short. He doesn't wait for Jace to enter the kitchen, just bites out, "He's here," and bolts. Jace quirks an eyebrow when Alec storms into his line of vision, but doesn't ask anything. Alec's out the door on the first syllable of Jace's, "What's up with him?".

The stairway is cold and dark, but Alec doesn't bother with the light. He settles halfway between the first and second floor, leaning against the wall and listening to the people bustling about behind it; there's family with a newborn right behind him. He can hear it crying, though the sound is faint through the thick wall and easy enough to ignore. Silence takes over quickly, but the uproar in his mind does not yield to the relative peace of Alec's surroundings.

The turmoil of emotion does not cease even as time goes by. The hurt look in Magnus' eyes is firmly stuck to Alec's eyelids, his words ricocheting in Alec's skull and emptying his lungs of their oxygen.

_Jace is a much bigger problem_, Magnus has said. In the oppressive silence, Alec is willing to admit he is right. Admission, however, does not provide him with a solution, but with a bigger headache. His head throbs with vigor- persistent, relentless. For a while, it serves as a distraction from his thoughts: from Jace and Magnus, from Magnus' previous lovers and from _them_ and their relationship.

He doesn't realize he's dozed off until Jace trips on his legs and lands a few stairs down with a crash.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jace asks.

"Where did you think I was?" it takes Alec a few moments to realize it wasn't him Jace was out looking for. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Can you pretend I am looking for you?" Jace seems desperate.

"No." Alec replies. _Because you never do. _"What are you doing here? I thought the deal was you not going anywhere without Magnus."

"It was." Jace's eyes shift to look at the darkness of the floor below them. "He doesn't know I'm out."

"How come?"

"The wards are down," he makes a gesture with his hand. "Because of the potion. Apparently it takes some mojo to concoct it."

Alec nods. "That makes sense."

Silence follows Alec's statement. Jace narrows his eyes. "Are you going to tell him?" he asks, because they both know the most Alec can do without the help of his marks is play rat. He's not nearly fast or strong enough to stop Jace from going if he so desires.

"It depends on where you're going," Alec says, though he knows he won't say a word. He thought Jace knew that too.

"Valentine." At Alec's confused look, Jace elaborate, "I'm going to see Valentine."

Alec gapes at him. "What?" he practically hollers. Jace moves, lightning-fast, and clasps his hand over Alec's mouth. Alec waits for his heart to explode. It doesn't. Jace lets Alec go a few moments later with warning clear in his eyes.

"What?" Alec repeats. His tone is hushed. "Why?"

"I'm not going to join him or anything."

"I know that," Jace's eyes widen at the conviction in Alec's voice. Alec doesn't get why he seems so surprised. "I asked you why you _are_ going, not what you're not gonna do when you get there."

"I need to talk to him," Jace admits grudgingly.

"What on earth do you want to talk to him about?"

Jace's voice turns defensive. "He's my _father_."

"He's also an asshole."

Jace eyes harden and he glares. He opens his mouth to protest but shuts it before the words have a chance of escaping. He can't deny what is clearly the truth. "I need to talk to him," he maintains instead.

"You can't." Jace bristles at that. Alec gives him a stern look. "Jace, the Inquisitor is after you. It won't be wise to piss her off."

"She won't know," Jace insists sullenly and tucks his hands into his pockets. He lifts his gaze and eyes Alec carefully. "Unless you tell her, that is."

Alec knows better than to rise to the bait. "You know I won't." Though he doesn't act as though he does. "It's still stupid though."

"It's not," Jace says as he gets up. Alec follows.

"Yes, it _is_." Alec blocks the stairwell bodily. Jace's lips twist in distaste. "He's a murderer, Jace. He's been killing Downworlders for some sick ritual for months now. He might kill you. He almost did once." Alec levels Jace's furious stare. "Don't go to him. It won't end well."

"Move." Alec doesn't. He's taller than Jace, and his arm span is just wide enough to prevent him from going through. "_Move_."

"No."

"Alec," Jace growls in warning. "Let me through."

"You're not going anywhere." Alec remains stationary, feet firmly planted on the ground.

"You can't stop me," Jace grumbles, but doesn't move to push Alec away.

"Unless you want to push me down the stairs, I think you're out of options." Jace's gaze hardens, but Alec doesn't feel inclined to feel fear. He knows Jace won't do it and judging from Jace's expression- so does he.

Jace pulls one hand out of his pocket to clutch at Alec's shirt, intent on pulling him away from the stairs. His hand leaves a bloody imprint on Alec's chest. Alec grabs Jace's wrist before he has the chance to throw him against the wall.

"What's that?" there are cuts along Jace's palm, two of them quite deep. Jace shrugs and shakes Alec away. He puts his hand back in his pocket and gets out a small shard of mirror.

"I cut myself," he says, but doesn't let Alec see the bloodied mirror. He is clutching on to it as if it's a lifeline he can't bear to lose.

"You are not going anywhere," Alec tells him as Jace takes another step forward. When Jace tries to push him, Alec grabs his wrist again. Jace is faster, though, and his calf is already behind his. Alec is falling on his back before he has enough time to kick Jace away. So he takes Jace down with him, pulling his wrist, and the small mirror shatters between their bodies and the floor. Jace gives Alec a poisonous glare that is icy cold, yet blazing. He doesn't say anything as he gets up, but Alec can read it on his face- the hurt for something he doesn't fully understand the extent of.

Jace steps over Alec's fallen form briskly, fading into the shadows before Alec has the chance to apologize or stop him. He doesn't look back once. Displaced rage fills Alec to the brim, his whole body trembling with it so bad he can barely move. Doesn't want to. So he lies there, catching his breath and suppressing the overwhelming childish notion to curl into a fetal position on the floor by the door of apartment number six. _This has to stop,_ he thinks, over and over. _I can't keep doing this_, but he doesn't know how to stop.

Alec leaves not long after Jace's exit, following the urge to _get away_.

The streets are surprisingly quiet. He stays out of the alleyways, walking briskly under the harsh light of the streetlamps, not once straying into the shadows. He knows he won't be able to fight what he might encounter there.

It's an area of New York he isn't terribly familiar with, but the structure of the city enables him to navigate easily enough. He comes across the right neighborhood quicker than he thought. He doesn't know the exact address, but he figures he has the whole night to go from door to door looking for the surname _Lewis_. He doesn't plan on meeting Simon, not really, doesn't plan to fight, or apologize or yell- just search, walk the length of the street until the sun goes up.

He doesn't have to. He meets Simon on the porch of the seventh house, and they are both surprised at the encounter.

Simon looks well for someone who's been dead not a week ago. He's pale, but it's the kind of white one can attribute to a severe lack of sun rather than demon energy infused with human blood. His face looks the same- if slightly sharper, a tad more defined at the angles. The only noteworthy change, Alec reckons, is the startling lack of glasses. He figures it makes sense.

Simon opens his mouth, but Alec beats him to it. "Do you hate me?"

"No," Simon shakes his head. Alec's guts unknot and his shoulders slump visibly in relief. It's good to hear- the answer he wasn't expecting but secretly hoping for without knowing why a negative would be so important.

"Good," Alec lets out a deep sigh and a slight smile. "Can we not talk?"

"But we are."

"Can we not talk about why I'm here, not wanting to talk?"

"Sure," Simon nods and gets up. He must have seen something on Alec's face because he opens the door to his house next and gestures for Alec to get inside. "It's warmer inside, and there's pizza." His tone is purposefully soft, gentle even- as if Alec's an animal he doesn't want to scare away. "Did something happen with Jace?"

"That'd be talking," Alec says far more harshly than he's intended. Simon frowns.

"Fair enough," he concedes after a brief pause, nodding, concern still etched on his features. They enter the empty living room and Simon turns on the lights. It seems comfortable enough. Comfortable and empty. Alec wonders if it's his place to ask about Simon's family.

"My mother's on a nightshift," Simon explains without being prompted, his voice wavering. "She doesn't know," he says in way of explaining, settling back on the sofa in the middle of the room, gesturing towards the couch. Alec sits.

"It's been a week," Alec says and trails off. He doesn't ask, giving Simon the option to avoid the subject altogether.

"She isn't terribly invested in me," Simon replies. Alec can relate. Simon's eyes focus somewhere above Alec's head when he adds, "I've been 'staying at Clary's' for the past couple of days. I'm planning on feigning the flu next."

"What'll you do after that?"

Simon remains quite for some time before muttering, "I don't know." He looks up at Alec with a sheepish grin, "Can we not talk?"

Alec nods. "Sure."

They keep silent for the first hour, content with the solace television has to offer. Alec finds the quiet oddly comforting, numbing even- an undemanding atmosphere in which words are unneeded and unwelcome. The couch is comfortable, and for a while, Alec's brain shuts up and shuts down. He sleeps. Simon remains awake to watch cartoons in a language Alec does not understand but finds lulling.

He wakes up four hours later, but it's already closer to dawn. Simon's half sprawled on the sofa next to him, but his eyes are open and troubled.

"You're Jace's bestie, right?" he asks. Alec snorts in response.

"That's one way to sum up my problems, yes," he replies and awaits Simon's forthcoming question. He knows there is one.

"He's still in love with Clary, right?"

Alec doesn't even have to mull that one over. He forgets his tact, firing a harsh _yes_, unsure which of them it might hurt more, not quite caring either.

Simon nods. "Do you think she is?"

"You know her better than I do."

The expression on Simon's face is unreadable. "Sometime, I don't think I do."

Alec has nothing to say to that. They aren't close enough to disclose this sort of information yet, and although he wants to respond with 'Sometimes, I don't think I know myself either', he reckons it's a bit much and way too soon. He settles for a noncommittal grunt.

"I'll risk our newfound friendship's boundaries here and ask: do you think I have a chance?"

Alec blinks in surprise at the 'friendship' card thrown in so carelessly. He looks at Simon's expression- the earnest twist of his mouth and the darkness beneath his eyes- and figures it's only a big deal because Alec's making it one. He sometimes forgets friendship is not exclusive to family members. "I don't think I'm qualified to answer that. Relationships aren't my forte," he tells Simon truthfully.

"Humor me."

"I don't think you do," Alec tells him bluntly after a pause. "They are so obsessed with each other there's little room for anyone else." It is probably the first time he has admitted that, to himself and to someone else. He's not sure how he feels about that.

Simon slumps down and scowls. "Life sucks," he concludes. Alec nods slowly in agreement.

"Sorry for ruining yours," Alec offers cautiously. Simon looks confused. "Sorry that you've died because of me," Alec clarifies.

Simon rolls his eyes, but his lips thin ruefully, his expression now a tad harder. "If I had known you'd end up feeling guilty over it I wouldn't have asked you to come." His eyes are determined when he adds, "It's not your fault." As if he expects Alec to believe that.

Alec doesn't. So he tries again, picking through the unused words he never had uttered in search of the proper ensemble of an apology.

"It is. I am sorry I let you die."

Simon's groan is one of utter exasperation. "I'm sorry I asked you without revealing the details," he shoots back. "It was insensitive."

Alec narrows his eyes. "I'm sorry I never _asked_ for details. It was stupid."

Simon's voice is tight when he says, "I'm sorry I didn't bother checking what the curse was all about," _It's not your fault_ the undercurrent to his words Alec doesn't wish to hear.

"I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough." Judging from his expression, Simon can hear the _Yes, it is_.

"I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough."

"I'm sorry I didn't try harder."

"I'm sorry I thought you won't care." Simon buries his head in a pillow with a deep sigh like a white flag. "We sound like a Sara Bareilles song."

"I'm sorry I have no idea who that is." Simon throws the pillow at him. Alec snickers, but it's a weak, choppy sound, and the smile doesn't reach anywhere near his eyes.

"And your 'Let's Not Talk' plan goes straight out the window."

Alec nods slightly.

"If I don't think it's your fault, it's what counts, right?" Simon remains hopeful. Alec doesn't want to tell him it doesn't, only he does, but knows better than to try. "Since I'm the allegedly wounded party."

"I'm still sorry."

"And I still think you have nothing to be sorry about."

"You're a vampire because of me; I'd say that's something." Simon's shoulders stiffen, but he doesn't lift his face from the cushions.

"I'm a vampire because I was an idiot," Simon's reply is slightly muffled, but it rings strong in the uncomfortable silence. "I'm a vampire because I tried a shady drink in a warlock's party, got turned into a rat and bit a vampire." His voice acquires a defeated note when he mumbles, "I'm a vampire because I was stupid enough to _return to their den_ and think I will get out alive."

"I was supposed to help you with that."

"Stop blaming yourself, it's stupid and it hurts my brain."

Alec snorts but doesn't reply. Simon lifts his head to deliver a pensive look, his eyes hooded. "It's not your fault. You're smart enough to know that without me having to drill it in." Just then, Simon sounds like his father. Alec's back stiffens automatically, the yessir on the tip of his tongue, practically out. He seeks the lie in Simon's eyes but finds nothing but genuine concern and the need to reach out. He nods curtly, and that's that.

"Do you mind closing the blinds?" Simon asks, pressing his head to the sofa cushions against the light. They have nothing more to discuss. Alec does as he's asked. There are two windows in the living room, one in the kitchen. The apartment dims with each closed window, and when the last one is shut- Simon is out cold.

Alec settles on the sofa with his knees bent up to his chin, folded like a child. He takes out his phone and texts _how was the hunt? hope u r alright_ when all he really wants to say is _I miss you_ and _today was shit_.

There's no answer.

It's four in the morning- the night's over. Alec truly wants to believe that.

x

"I can't believe she said that," Simon grumbles as they head toward Luke's. "She owes you an apology the size of J-lo's ass."

Alec gives him a sidelong glance. He doesn't see the point in arguing. "She was upset. It's understandable."

"You just think she's right." Simon turns on him. "She's not. It wasn't your fault and she has no right blaming you."

Alec doesn't reply. "Don't think I don't know what you're thinking-" Simon scowls at him as they round another corner. He sounds like the lovechild of Izzy's bad temper and Magnus' exasperation. "Stop it."

Alec sighs. With another turn, they finally make it to Luke's block. The house itself is further up and the street's quiet, East River humming to their left, a thousand suns reflected on its smooth surface. There's a warm, yellow tint cast on everything nearby, houses and trees set afire with the progress of twilight. The evening is colder than it's meant to be. Alec's gloves are ultimately useless.

They approach the house just as Luke's car stops by it and Clary's opening the door. Luke waves at them, says something to Clary and speeds away. She remains standing there, awkwardly waiting for them both to come closer.

"I'm sorry," she says as soon as they're close enough to hear. Her eyes remain fixed on the dirty pavement, and she's biting her lip and fidgeting something awful. When Alec doesn't reply, she lifts her eyes to meet his, and repeats, "I am so sorry for what I've said."

"And I didn't even have to do anything," Simon mutters under his breath.

Alec remains silent. Clary stares at him, her hands nervously playing with the hem of her shirt. "I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have said what I did."

Simon tries to disguise 'true' in a cough. Clary scowls. "Just because I don't have super-hearing doesn't mean I can't hear you."

She doesn't seem perturbed by his innocent, unoffending stare. He shifts his expression to sheepish, but doesn't offer an apology. She turns to Alec again, but has nothing more to say than what she has already. She awaits an answer, acceptance or rejection for an apology she's been almost too late in delivering.

"Okay," is Alec's reply, a vague enough response that neither confirms he has forgiven her nor one to reject her heartfelt attempt completely. He doesn't feel angry or hurt; detached from the whole experience from the moment she's opened her door and yelled accusation in his face. She nods, a slight, timid smile spreading across her lips.

"I'll make it up to you, Alec," Clary says. "I promise."

Alec nods. Her smile grows wider. She mouths 'thank you, sorry' again, before turning to Simon. They reach the porch, and while the two of them decide to sit on the stairs, he remains standing by the bushes in the entryway, far enough so he won't hear a word.

The air gets colder as the sun sets further beneath the sea. Colors dim about him, saturation lost as evening arrives to claim its rightful place. The road is deserted and the breeze is cold. The only figure in the distance seems unthreatening and distinctively human. As the distance grows smaller, the hazy blur turns into a girl- her hair braided, skin dark.

Alec hears the noise before he sees its source. The girl is down in an instant, the flickering image of a demon above her. _Drevak_, he thinks, instinctively running to rescue a stranger when all he can really do in his condition is shout at the demon, and maybe poke it. He can hear Clary screaming something behind him; when he gets to the girl and the demon, Simon's baffled self is on his left, saying something Alec can't hear over the rush of blood in his ears.

The demon veers on them, snapping his jaws with a hiss. The sound reverberates in Alec's ribcage, slowly traveling from the ground to his bones. The poisonous needles in the Drevak's mouth shine in the faint light, numerous and sharp. It jumps.

Alec falls on his back before the demon hits him, rolling to the left and out of its reach. Simon screams. Alec doesn't care. He moves without knowing what his next step might be and it's _exhilarating_. He can almost forget he's lost a quarter of his marks in the past week, that he can't even see the thing properly, and just fight.

The demon lunges again, following his scent like an animal. It's a near hit. Its weigh shoves Alec onto the ground, but its jaws are nowhere near his body; luck's on his side. He lands by the fallen girl, but her eyes are glazed and she seems too out of it to inquire for her health and receive an answer.

Alec springs to his feet when he feels the air move next to him, the beast shuffling on the grass. He moves away from the girl, trying to get the demon as far away from her as he can.

One of the needles has grazed him, leaving a superficial mark on his cheek. Alec recoils.

"What the fuck is it?" he hears Simon scream.

"Find something to hit it with," Alec shouts back before attempting to lead the demon away from its previous prey. It remains hot on his heels throughout the whole run, occasionally trying a pounce. They are three blocks over, but there's no sign of Simon.

He's not fast enough. He knows that, but as the Drevak demon sinks its needles somewhere in the vicinity of his neck, he gets just _how_ much slower he got. Alec falls onto the hard, cold ground and screams as the poison hits his system, flowing with his blood, burning in his veins.

It feels like forever before the demon is off. A voice asks him if he's alright, but he doesn't recognize its owner- the face above him a blur, the world in general a haze.

He blacks out soon after, wondering if that's how he's going to die.

* * *

**A/N:**

Aphasia- People with Wernicke's aphasia may speak in long sentences that have no meaning, add unnecessary words, and even create made-up words. People suffering from the disease may intend to say "My head hurts" but say "I want smooth cat" instead, without being aware the words don't mean what they want to express. In this chapter it's meant to represent the communication breakdown Alec's experiencing with, well, everyone.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter :)

Excerpt from next chapter: _He drifts and forgets, waking up an hour later, and several times after that- screaming._


	6. 05: Ostrich

**05: Ostrich**

_Robert's eyes flash, bright like steel, as he strikes. His__sword__leaves behind a trail of white feathers and crimson droplets. A raven hails from the night, chasing a bat with a sharp, fiendish scream, midnight spilled from its mouth. The feathers are swallowed by the noise. A cat's paw comes crashing through the clouds and the bird. A green tide swipes the bat away, no trail left behind. The air smells of ashes. Wind murmurs freedom in his ear._

"-lec"_ there's a voice. It echoes. The darkness shies away with a whine. The raven screams again. There's no air._

"-wake up-"_ the tide grows stronger. The water is sheer emerald and freezing. _"Alec-"_ It covers his head and drowns the voice. His footing is lost._

"Please-"_ There's blood in the water. It leaves ugly, black marks over his skin. They look like words. Please (__/plíz/__, noun, a request)- the S stretching from eyelid to cheek, the E lodged just under his throat._

"-don't die-" _the source of the blood is a boy he doesn't know. He has black hair,_ "-Please, Alec." _And he is drowning._

x

The feeling registers before his mind has a name for it. Like fire, burning his flesh, gnawing on his insides, withholding his breath and choking him; coursing through his veins, conquering every cell, seeping into every tissue and bone. It strikes like searing metal, harsh and demanding, tearing him apart. There's darkness and blood, red behind his eyelids and acid in his throat. Emptiness shifts about him, a vertical flip too fast to keep up with, his heart snatched and thrown away for a beating, his lungs crushed, skin flayed.

Silence.

It's stifling, yet only when sound penetrates his skull does he realize the small comfort it had offered. It is everywhere- hissing and screams, dark whispers sugar-coated. Words slur together, molten into a single entity pushing against his senses, bombarding his thoughts until they, too, surrender and wane.

He is left with darkness and noise until there's a pull, and light. He opens his eyes and doesn't see anything but white. There's the sharp tang of blood on his tongue. Pain floods his senses at the very first inhale, but he appreciates the fact he can separate it from his own existence and define it, is glad it didn't swallow him whole.

There's a face, different from the first yet familiar- pale, black hair, dark eyes- above him and more noise. A sharp pull on his neck and a scream. The face changes and contorts. Something wet drips from it onto Alec's hand. The pain returns again and again, rhythmic like his heartbeat, like the screams.

Time stops and he is stranded. He is terrified. He wants out.

The world is black again. There is no pain. It brightens when his mind tires of tracking the trickling time. He opens his eyes and sees a room.

There are two faces this time, both he's already seen.

"Please," he can distinguish a word. It takes a while longer to dissect its meaning. "Wake up."

He blinks. His throat is on fire.

"Alec," a face says. The word triggers something, pulling on invisible strings to rise what the pain has drowned. "Alec," the face repeats. He thinks the word has a meaning, he can't figure what it is, though. He wants to ask, but his voice is gone.

The second face sighs in relief. "You screamed too much for that," it says. A hand enters his periphery vision. It shines in the light- shimmering with sparks and metal. "Don't talk, darling."

He tries to move but his body doesn't respond to his will. The mouth on the face pulls. "Drink this," it says, and something cool and smooth is pressed against his lips. A glass.

Liquid pours down his throat- it has the texture of fur and the taste of rotten eggs. "Sleep," the face says next, pulling the glass away. And there's that hand again. Sparks fill his vision until he's blinded.

The world is black again.

x

The face with the dark eyes has a sweet voice. He finds it lulling. It speaks to him and pleads, cries on his shoulder and tells him of a boy named 'Max' and persons called 'Mom' and 'Dad'. He tries to understand but the fog in his mind is too thick to penetrate, and he is too tired and worn to try. The face tells him _it'll be alright, Alec, _over and over, _Magnus will heal you_. The face- it has hands, hands with strong, thin fingers and sharp nails to grip his own palm.

The face holds him and mumbles _don't leave me Alec, don't leave me brother_.

The next time he wakes up, finally aware- Izzy's already gone on a hunt. There's a note by his bedside with '_don't you dare die'_ scribbled over it, messy- as if her hand was shaking.

x

"Please nod if you understand what I'm saying," Alec flutters his eyes open slowly, Magnus' voice assaulting his ears. He shifts his head for a better angle, and screams. It takes a while before he can breathe properly again. "_I told you _not to do that," Magnus tells him with an exasperated sigh, his voice tight and almost frightened. "Your neck looks like mince."

Alec doesn't try to move again, but attempts a glare. Magnus seems relived, but relief doesn't chase away the anger lurking at the edges. "Is this gonna be a permanent gig?" his tone is brittle, eyes not focused on Alec's face, fixating on his throbbing neck. It doesn't seem like he expects him to answer.

"I don't know," Alec voice comes out raw and weak, breaking. Magnus' seems surprised it comes out at all. "Is it?"

Magnus' eyes flare. Alec wonders what he's so scared of, why's he angry. "You are not invincible, Alexander. I can only save you so long."

Alec shakes his head and bites down the scream when pain shoots up his neck. "Do I have to tie you to keep you still? You know me well enough to realize I will and with great pleasure." Magnus' voice is harsh, but his hand hovers over Alec's neck to sooth the pain and it's trembling. His other arm pins Alec to the bed, firm against his chest. Alec doesn't try to move again.

"No, not this," Alec grinds out through clenched teeth. Magnus seems confused, a frown sneaking onto his carefully constructed mask of anger. "Is _this_ gonna be a permanent gig?" Alec's voice gives about halfway through the sentence. He lifts a hand to gesture between them, but Magnus captures his wrist- an iron hold- pressing it down with a glare. "This," Alec repeats, another hand coming up to touch the side of Magnus' face, fingers light, barely touching his skin. "This." Magnus' expression softens. He lets go of Alec hand, capturing the one at his face, pressing it to his cheek, before tentatively kissing his knuckles.

"I'd like it to be," Magnus replies. He doesn't let go of his hand. "Just don't die on me."

A small smile spreads across Alec's face. "Good." His eyes flutter shut again, but he tries to fight it. "Good, me too."

Magnus looks astounded, the feeling too large to leave place for rage. His face glows with sudden warmth, like spring awakened. His eyes crinkle. He seems happy. Alec's eyes close on the image.

He drifts and forgets, waking up an hour later, and several times after that- screaming.

x

The first time he wakes without the pain as a trigger, the room is as dark as it had been all day, but Magnus is still there- Izzy isn't- propped on the bed by his side. "How are you feeling?" Something- _his neck _- throbs consistently, its rhythm easy to follow and soak up, but immensely hard to ignore. Magnus' fingers twitch, eager to cast anything to ease the pain, his eyes intent on finding any sign of it on Alec's face.

Alec doesn't let it show. Or tries not to.

"Sore." His voice comes out grating, rough. It's painful to speak. Magnus snaps his fingers and the throbbing stops.

"That's because you are an idiot," Magnus tells him. Alec doesn't disagree. It seems to please Magnus, but his face remains hard, his expression painted in sharp, brisk strokes. His anger grows without anything to counter it. "What sort of suicidal notion made you approach a demon while you're practically a mundane?" His words bite.

The reminder is a painful, low blow. Magnus' face tells him he's reached a point where he doesn't care where the hit lands as long as it leaves a scar behind.

"There was a girl." Magnus snarls at his reasoning. Alec wonders what did he expect.

"Isn't there always," Magnus snaps. "If you haven't noticed, you are _not_ a knight. You lack the armor and the horse. Frankly, I think you'd look ridiculous riding-"

"You agree about the damsel, then."

"A were-girl," Magnus concedes with a grimace, anger slowly growing. "Who was stupid enough to-"

"Was?" alarm makes a quick appearance on Alec's face. It's the first time he thinks of her since the unconscious decision to run to her rescue. Guilt is a knife in his heart- twisting.

"Is," Magnus emends. "She's alright. Clary's call had impeccable timing." Alec slumps down in relief and stifles a groan as his muscles scream murder at him. "You owe her your life."

Alec's lips twist. "Well, she did say she'd make it up to me." His voice lacks humor.

"Are you being funny?" Magnus demands. He doesn't seem amused. "Do you think it's funny I got a call informing me my boyfriend's gonna hit the bucket? You think it's funny I had to use twelve spells just to get the poison out of your system because there's no cure for someone who's halfway between Shadowhunter and human? You think it was funny spending the last eight hours fighting for your _life_ because you're an idiot who can't keep out of a fight even when it has nothing to do with you?" Magnus' eyes flare gold, hellfire alight behind his irises, deep seated worry its kindling, anger a veneer. Alec takes a hold of the hand clutching the sheets by his left side, squeezing the cold flesh.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. Magnus' eyes narrow in frustration, his mouth curling itself into a snarl. "I'm sorry I made you worry."

"You should be sorry you almost_ died!_"

Alec shakes his head. "It's not what I'm sorry about." His other hand grips Magnus' shoulder, brushing near his exposed collarbone. "It's not what I'm apologizing for."

Magnus' mouth folds into itself- like a bonfire crumbling. His eyes dull. He lets out a sharp exhale and slumps down, his head unceremoniously falling on Alec's bed, near his waist, in a gesture of extreme exhaustion. He looks like a deflated balloon, sad and small, no air to keep it aloft and going. Alec's hand rests on his nape, scratching right by the hairline, venturing every now and then to twine fingers into his hair. Magnus' body is shaking. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Magnus' hand holds his tighter. "I hate it when you get injured."

Alec smiles tightly. "I know."

Their breath echoes loud like thunder in the silence. Magnus doesn't seem inclined to move, just shift his head slightly so it's resting on Alec's thigh.

Alec keeps on playing with his hair. They breathe.

"I'm sorry too," the warlock says after a while. His voice comes out muffled and slightly strained, apprehensive, not entirely apologetic.

"What for?"

"What I said before." Alec sees only the crown of Magnus' head, but he can gauge his expression- the harsh lines of his face. Alec knows that the apology is offered to settle the argument, not solve it. "About Jace. And you."

Alec nods, accepting, wondering if he has enough strength to solve Jace. "What about us?"

"I'm not gonna apologize about us."

A small smile spreads across Alec's lips at the firm, certain tone, the quick-fire admission that's almost instinctive; this time not apologizing. Perhaps one day, Alec won't feel he has to either. "I mean, _what _about us?"

"It doesn't change anything," Magnus insists, but his tone suggests he's done a poor job of convincing even himself of that.

"Doesn't it?" Alec figures it should. Magnus' past matters. Alec's lack of it does too. "I just," Alec's voice trails off. "It matters to me. I don't- I know it shouldn't. It does."

"Is there anything I can say to make it not matter?"

They both know the answer to that. Alec keeps quiet. Magnus' face contorts.

"Don't blow it up, darling." The warlock's grip on his wrist tightens. There's a subtle plea in his tone. Alec is willing to be convinced, hopes Magnus can, because he's the one with all the words Alec can never find. "It's just the past. It doesn't matter as much as the present."

But it does- because for Alec, it's almost the same. He has thirty years, less if he's average, more if he's lucky, or if he stays human. It means one chance at everything, just enough time to live a bit, love a bit. He doesn't think he has the time for heartbreak, for falling in love once more, for sleeping around and forgetting.

Magnus has, and had. Magnus has forever. Alec has _this_ and he's losing.

"I'm not blowing it up. I don't even have the exact number to blow up."

"Do you want the exact number?"

He doesn't.

"Do you know it?"

"I can estimate."

"Do I want to know?"

He's curious, though. The kind of curiosity that kills the cat no matter how many lives it's got left. It's the kind of impulse his father taught him to resist, the one Izzy always yields to- the dark itch to pull the trigger, uncertain whether there's a bullet in the cylinder.

"Judging by your attitude thus far, no, you don't."

It would be best to leave it at that. Alec doesn't need nor want to want to know how many people he has to stand up against in Magnus' book, doesn't want to know how high he ranks. Yet, looking at Magnus now- with his rumpled orange shirt and hair so soft, body stiff- he can't help it. He asks "Did you love them?" and it's like pulling a gun muzzle against his head.

"Some," Magnus shifts his head to look at Alec's face imploringly. Alec doesn't know what exactly he's searching for, but stares head on, unblinking. Magnus' face is purposefully open, kept unguarded from Alec's eyes, Alec's question, Alec's doubts. "Are you going to ask me if I loved them more or less than I love you?" Magnus' cocks his head at a weird, birdlike angle, his eyes alight with something not entirely human Alec is absolutely fascinated by.

Alec's heart stutters when Magnus' words register. His guts twist and his mouth dries. "No," he shakes his head and tightens his hold. He hopes he never has to let go. "This is enough."

And it truly is, though his own reply lacks. He's always heard those four letters leave an immense impact once uttered. Alec never thought it'd leave him breathless.

The gun at his head slowly pulls away. Relief takes over- flooding every cell with the knowledge of feeling, of certainty, of _him_.

Magnus smiles ruefully. Alec thinks he understands. The hand not captured in Alec's vice grip comes to rest across Alec's stomach, Magnus' flesh dark against his own. "Don't die on me," Magnus says and tightens his hold. "I won't like that."

"I wasn't planning to."

"It's for future reference." Alec nods. It's a silent promise. After a pause, Magnus adds, "And stop running away. It's terribly insensitive of you. My weak heart can't take it, I'm much too old for that."

Alec cocks an eyebrow.

"Twice." Magnus sighs at Alec's befuddled expression and clarifies, "Simon. And now this."

"This was Simon too, actually."

"That's not the point."

"What is?"

"I can't track you," Magnus admits grudgingly. "Your body's changing constantly, even with the potion, and I can't track you. Every time you disappear, you _disappear_."

Magnus' hand grips Alec's harder, almost bruising. "But you found me last time."

"I've been searching for hours. I've also happened to be lucky. I may not be next time." Magnus' gaze tells Alec exactly what he fears might happen the next time he won't find him, the next time Clary won't be there to call him for help.

Alec ponders this, biting his lip. "I didn't know."

"Now you do." Magnus' eyes harden. "Promise you won't."

"I'll try."

Magnus shakes his head. "Not good enough, darling." His hand gives up its hold on Alec's palm and moves to remove a silver necklace from around his neck. It's thin and long with an inconspicuous gem pendant. It shines extravagant blue in the slight afternoon light, dim and colorless without it. Alec cranes his neck down, ignoring the pain, so Magnus can fasten it. Magnus murmurs an apology, but puts it on anyway. The gem feels heavy resting against Alec's chest. "That should do."

"What is it?"

"I got it in Peru last time I visited. It's a crystalized dragontear- very precious, very rare."

"How did you get it?" he asks, because he has a sneaking feeling he knows what it's for.

"I have my ways." Magnus' expression is smug, but his eyes remain carefully blank. Alec gets the hint. He's not going to press Magnus' many and mysterious ways.

"Is it going to help tracking me or are you just feeling generous?"

"Of course it will."

"How?"

"Because I won't be tracking you." Magnus' eyes glint, amusement washed in gold. "I'll be tracking it."

x

The next morning Magnus is busy with Luke's injury, Simon and Clary are nowhere to be seen and Alec meets the damsel he's saved sitting by the kitchen counter. She's short and heavily bandaged, hogging a cup of coffee and glaring daggers at the empty kitchen at large, ready to bite. Her eyes lock on him as soon as he enters the kitchen, intent, calculating.

Her nose is twitching.

A true werewolf.

"You."

"Me," Alec confirms, unsure if it's wise to admit that. Her eyes narrow cautiously, but she doesn't bare her teeth. He reckons it's a good sign.

"Here." She says and hands him the precious coffee with a tentative smile and the expression of a soldier sent out to the frontline. Alec takes the cup because he hasn't the heart to tell her he hates the stuff; she looks like she needs reassurance and about sixteen hours of sleep.

"Thank you." He sits across her, hunched over the small counter, the cold coffee set before him. Her smile widens at his words, not genuine, but getting there.

"Maia Roberts," she says, offering her hand. Alec shakes it. Her grip is firm and warm. "Pleasure to be saved by you."

"Alec Lightwood," he replies in kind, "I haven't really done anything."

"Right." Maia gives him a dubious look, one that says she thinks he's slow and possibly deranged, but it's something she's willing to turn a blind eye on for the sake of decency. She stares pointedly at his bandaged neck. He suppresses the urge to rub at it, fussing with his new necklace instead. "Well, I'm glad you showed up. Your kind doesn't usually do that."

Alec scowls.

"You are alright for a Shadowhunter," Maia assures him with a benevolent smile. "Never thought there's decent folk among you."

"Most of us are alright," he murmurs and sips at the coffee to hide his pout. It tastes like shit.

She offers yet another skeptical look and a long pause to suggest he hasn't got her convinced. She shrugs, as if to shake the upcoming argument, not because she thinks she's wrong- he can see the conviction on her face- but because she can't be bothered.

"Thanks," she says simply, but her voice is rushed, quiet, and her words as sharp as they are sudden. Her gaze falls heavy on his shoulders. He doesn't know what to say or do in response that's appropriate. So he nods, his eyes firmly fixed on the tabletop and the cooling coffee cup he isn't planning on drinking the contents of.

"You're as bad at this as I am," Maia observes quietly. He doesn't know if she refers to saving, drinking or talking, but reckons it's true either way. Maia seems amused. "No one's ever thanked you before?"

"I haven't saved anyone before," he explains. _I did kill someone last week, though_, doesn't feel like something he should add, so he doesn't. The silence is awkward but customary. Alec wonders whether it's his job to wreck his brains and find something to break it with. He doesn't feel like talking. It still feels like he should.

"Are you part of Luke's pack?" he asks after a contemplative silence, settling for formal trivialities.

"Yeah," Maia seems surprised at his interest. "Less than six months."

"How's it like?"

"Better than other packs. Better people, worse accommodation."

Her statement steals a surprised laugh from Alec's mouth. She grins. "How d'you know Luke?" she asks.

"Clary."

Maia wrinkles her nose, the left side of her lips lifting in a lopsided, charming grin. "That girl, she's way too ginger." She says 'ginger' as if she means something else entirely, but is too polite to actually voice it.

Alec smiles at her and shrugs. "She's Clary," he says, careful to keep his tone neutral. It still comes across as if he means something else entirely by 'Clary'. Maia makes a little sound that is more intrigued than surprised, mouth shaped like an O and eyes alight. Alec busies himself with the coffee. He doesn't want to talk about _why_, why Clary or why anything.

He lifts the cup to his lips and almost spits its contents out. He always forgets just how bitter coffee is.

"You gonna torture that coffee all day or can I come to its rescue?" she asks, not pushing it, the grin still playing about her lips.

"Be my guest," Alec hands her the cup. "I have no idea how you can drink this shit."

Her eyes widen. "Do shut up," she says. "Someone might actually think you're serious and murder you in your sleep."

Alec lets the doubt show on his face, a single eyebrow rising as a challenge. Maia looks as if she might be that someone.

"Some things are not to be said," Maia chides in the determined tones of a preschool teacher. She takes a sip and lets out a purposefully obscene moan, as if to prove something. Alec laughs. The sound is overridden by Simon's booming voice.

"This is a bad idea, worse than the Mentos incident." He sounds exasperated, voice sharp and pitchy, rising halfway through.

"We agreed not to talk about the Mentos incident!" Clary's voice snaps right back.

"I thought it necessary to inform you just how _spectacularly bad_ this idea is. You need ground for comparison." Simon's voice gets gradually stronger. They must be headed to the kitchen.

"It's not that bad."

"How's drawing that on yourself 'not that bad'? Do you have any idea what it'd make you do?"

"I don't know- pat a snake. Wear a mini-skirt. Cut my hair."

"It's a fearless rune, not a Things I Find Mildly Off-Putting rune!"

Clary splutters. "I was talking about _my hair_."

"What if it's like a boggart- what if we end up with Mr. Matthews dressed like your gran?"

"I don't even remember my gran."

They enter the kitchen just as Simon waves his hands around, either trying to demonstrate the scale of stupidity involved or the general shape of Clary's gran with a single, grand gesture. Clary makes a face at him. He scowls in response. Then they notice Alec and Maia and blanch.

When it becomes apparent neither is going to explain, Alec says, "There's no 'fearless' rune." They don't seem surprised. He frowns. "There's 'courage' and 'brave'. There's no 'fearless'."

"Oh, so you're actually trying to make sense of it?" Maia inquires in a small voice so hollow it sounds like she's weighing her options against the Crazy Surrounding Her.

"Clary invented it," Simon offers. Clary gives him a glare, which Simon returns only halfheartedly. She turns to Alec with a pout he can't understand how Jace finds adorable.

"I don't know if it works."

"You can't just _make_ a rune." The notion itself is ridiculous. Clary bites her lip and shows him a sketch.

"Mark me?" her voice suggests she knows she's going to be turned down.

"Where?" he asks, because he doesn't really believe it'd work, not because it's Clary and he just doesn't give a damn.

"Oh, so you're actually playing along?" Maia's tone acquires a new note of despair.

"On my arm." Clary lifts her right sleeve and shows him a spot just beneath her elbow. Alec marks her, trying to stay as true as possible to her drawing but his hands are shaking. He can feel the Stele resisting his touch. He probably won't be able to use it at all in a day or so.

The finished mark looks wrong and foreign on her skin. Fake.

"Well?" Simon asks, his eyes anxious. "Are you gonna blow up the room?"

"We said we're not talking about the Mentos incident!"

Simon grins. Clary fumes. Nothing happens.

"I told you," Alec says, because he wants to. Clary sighs.

"Maybe it takes time," Maia offers from her seat. Simon huffs.

"Don't encourage her."

Clary rolls her eyes. She opens her mouth to snap at Simon when the doorbell rings. It doesn't stop her.

"I'll get it," Alec heads towards the door. Clary says something he doesn't bother listening to. He opens the door with more force than strictly necessary.

Jace stands on Luke's porch, rumpled and far paler than he's been when he left Magnus' apartment. The voices behind Alec's back die down.

"Hi," Alec greets. Jace nods, shuffling his feet. There's a foreign feeling reflected his eyes- something Alec would have defined as anxiety were it anyone else. He doesn't know how to define it on Jace, so he doesn't try.

"How did it go?" Alec asks.

Jace murmurs, "I turned him down."

"Of course you did."

Jace's eyes widen. Alec tries to smile, but it comes out crooked. Jace doesn't move, but his jaw tightens until a vain on his neck shows. He's not looking at Alec at all. Alec turns around and there she is, staring at Jace like it's only him in the entire world. Then she turns away and plants one on Simon. For a moment, all Alec can think of is _I knew she's no good _and then he turns back to Jace and sees the heartbreak on his face. The weak afternoon light hits him at a weird angle- enhancing his features until he looks sharp and breakable. Alec's heart drops at the sight of him. It makes him want to strangle Clary, tell her she's stupid, can't she see what she has?

He doesn't say anything. He follows when Jace makes a silent, hasty retreat, running after him through the streets and forgetting to close the door.

"Jace, stop!" he calls, but Jace doesn't. He's faster.

When they're a few blocks away he turns around and bites out, "Stop following me," angrily, as if it's all Alec's fault. Alec almost wishes it was. He knows it'd be easier for Jace to be angry with him than with Clary.

"I won't," Alec says and takes a step closer. Jace acts like a cornered animal- his eyes running in all possible directions, his fists clenched, muscles tense, body trembling. He looks broken, the pieces too small to glue together. Alec wants to try, but doesn't know where to start looking for the shards.

"Why did she do that?" Jace demands, as if Alec knows the answer and is refusing to tell him.

"I don't know," Alec says, carefully. "She had a 'fearless' rune on."

Jace doesn't question the existence of a 'fearless' rune, just snaps, "And that's what she's been afraid to do?". He turns his back on Alec the second time in twenty-four hours, fleeing to lick his wounds and possibly wreck things. "Don't follow me," he says, but halts before he moves again, as if he's waiting. In a way, he does. It's an old habit.

The dragontear on Alec's chest gives a faint pulse, just a warm current that's more of a reminder than a demand; Alec doesn't move to follow.

Jace doesn't wait long. He's gone a few moments later, rounding the nearest corner practically running.

Alec sees him go, thinking perhaps what Clary's been most afraid of wasn't kissing Simon- but losing Jace.

Kissing Simon was just the best way to do it.

Magnus is sulking on Luke's porch when Alec makes it back. He seems genuinely surprised to see Alec, his face suddenly glowing. "I thought you went after him," he says, his long form slowly unfolding, his perch on the stairs abandoned. He's in Alec's personal space in less than a minute.

"I did."

"Did he run away?" Magnus' tone is awfully hopeful. Alec grins.

"No," Alec shakes his head. Magnus' hand comes to rest on the back of Alec's neck, his hold firm and unbelievably warm. "I cut the chase short."

"Why?" Magnus asks, hooking two fingers in the closest convenient belt loop of Alec's worn jeans, pulling him in until there's no space between them. They share breath and body heat and it's like all those childhood memories Alec never really had. It's all wonderfully simple and _right_ for a while.

"Because you said stop running away," Alec says against Magnus' lips. It's all wonderfully simple and _right_ until Magnus mutters:

"Someone's trying to break into my apartment."

* * *

**A/N: **I wish I knew what really happened in Peru, but as long as I don't, I think it's logical to assume Magnus has smuggled some rare, ancient gem that has immense cultural value.

I hope you've enjoyed this chapter :)

Excerpt from next chapter: _Alec__ stumbles on something lying just a step behind his current footing and falls to the ground with no time for a yelp of surprise. He lands on a body, twisted and broken, bleeding from a large hole in the chest. It's a man, tall and dark-haired._


	7. 06: Bellic

**06:Bellic**

The wards around Magnus' building are down. Alec can't see, or even sense it, but Magnus is pissed enough to shout it for all pedestrians to hear. The mundanes on the street give him alarmed looks and wide berth, a woman with glasses hurriedly ushering her daughter away from the Crazy Man. Magnus doesn't pay them any mind. He storms up the stairs- the front door burst open with a simple spell- eyes blazing and knuckles cracking. Alec hurries after him, a dark voice at the back of his mind insisting they might not want to go up there and find the burglar. When Alec sees the Inquisitor along with his mother and sister crowding the hallway before Magnus' door, he figures he should've listened.

Izzy appears by Alec's side without asound, her shoulder instantly pressed against his, trying to support his weight. "I'm alright," he tells her, before she asks.

Her hand grips his palm- painfully tight- and she whispers, "You better be," with relief in her stare.

"So good of you to join us," the Inquisitor's face suggests she's anything but pleased with the prospect. Her cool eyes look past Alec- his existence unimportant- searching for something behind both Lightwood siblings before they latch onto Magnus, pinning him in place with a single, cold glare. "Where's Morgenstern's spawn, Downworlder?"

Magnus tilts his chin up, an eyebrow raised, staring her down his nose. "With Lucian."

The Inquisitor takes a step forward, but the height difference between her and Magnus is vast enough to diminish the intimidation she was so obviously counting on. Her eyes narrow and she barks, "Liar."

Magnus laughs, soft and controlled. He doesn't say anything in response. They all know it might cost him his head. The silence is broken by his mother's terse, "Alexander," which says anything she might've wanted to express and nothing Alec can make something of. Alec leans in closer to Izzy, his eyes tentatively seeking his mother's.

"Tell me Isabelle misunderstood the situation," Maryse says when their eyes meet, her stare demanding and cold. Alec leans further against his sister. His throat is suddenly very dry.

"What situation?"

Even the Inquisitor turns, her interest piqued.

Maryse rolls her eyes, "Don't be difficult, Alec. Have you or haven't you angered the Seelie Court's Queen?"

"Yes," Alec offers reluctantly, "but-"

"Has she or hasn't she cursed you?"

Alec sighs. "Yes, but-"

"Are you turning human?" she demands, he voice like a cord worn thin.

"Yes," Alec replies, and decides not to bother further.

"Splendid," Maryse exhales sharply through the nose, nostrils flaring alongside with her anger. The cord is severed. "What are you planning to do about it?"

"There's a potion," he offers. Maryse huffs impatiently and he continues, words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush, "it's slowing the process."

"Is there a cure?" she demands, he eyes shifting between Alec and Magnus. Izzy tightens her grip on Alec's hand.

"Most likely," Magnus answers for him, his tone like a door slamming. "Is occupying the hall primary? I'd rather like my apartment back- it has my cat and make-up. I'm rather fond of both," he grumbles and adds, "Release my welcome mat, if you please," staring pointedly at Maryse, who does not budge, dark leather boots firmly planted on the plush, orange mat.

The Inquisitor squares her shoulders, her back as straight as if her spine were a metal rod. She blocks the door bodily. Her voice is a low hiss- quiet and dangerous- "Where is the boy."

It's not a question.

Magnus' voice is tight, his anger caged, when he says, "I haven't the faintest."

"I don't believe you," the Inquisitor sneers.

"So you don't."

The tension is palpable. "He'll turn up," all heads turn at Alec's sudden interruption. Izzy whispers _what're you doing?_ her eyes wide and darting between Alec and the Inquisitor. Alec continues regardless, "He'll beat someone up and you'll have a report with his name all over it."

"Why would he-" the Inquisitor starts, but Alec cuts her off without entirely meaning to. Her face contorts, the desire to sever his vocal cords and sew his mouth shut apparent over her face.

"He got pissed off at something-" Alec doesn't let any of them ask _what_, "- and stormed off. He'll get into a brawl in the next twenty-four hours."

Maryse huffs but doesn't argue, doesn't ask. The Inquisitor looks as if she had been forced to eat a spoonful of salt. She turns on Magnus, ignoring Alec again. "You've let him loose. He was your responsibility, Bane, and you've let him-"

"I didn't _let_ him do anything. I was preoccupied and he _ran off_," Magnus snaps.

"Preoccupied." The Inquisitor's eye flash. "Doing what, exactly? Applying nail-polish?"

Magnus' smile is razor sharp, twisted with malice. "Tending to your precious, little Shadowhunters."

The Inquisitor's keen eyes focus on Alec's bandaged neck, brief and assessing, there and gone again. She snarls, "He's not a Shadowhunter anymore."

Maryse looks ready to throttle her. "He's my _son_," she says just as Izzy growls, "He's my _brother_."

"You thought the other one was, too," the Inquisitor shoots back at Maryse. "And now your real son has cost us our only connection to Valentine."

"I want my apartment back," Magnus says, stepping within a few inches of the Inquisitor's face, his expression plainly reading, _And I want you gone_.

"I want Valentine dead," the Inquisitor replies with venom. "I guess neither of us gets what they want."

"What do you want from me?" Magnus asks, although he must know the answer. The Inquisitor smirks, sure the question is a surrender. In a way, it is.

"Track Jonathan Morgenstern," she says. "Tell me where he is."

"Like hell he will-" Izzy starts incredulously. The Inquisitor's head snaps towards her and the rest of the sentence dies in Izzy's throat- a painful, untimely death.

"He will," the Inquisitor assures her, eyes narrowed. Izzy doesn't try to pound her to the ground, doesn't even protest- just stands there, small and quiet behind Alec's wide shoulders.

"And if I refuse?"

"Magnus Bane," the Inquisitor wraps her tongue around the name, spitting it out with as if not pleased with the taste of the syllables. "Do I really have to tell you what happens if you do?" she's sure of her own victory, face hard like marble, eyes like splinters of diamond- light and unforgiving.

Magnus angles his face down and says, voice clear and strong, "Look in Pandemonium." Taking hold of both Alec and Isabelle's hands he opens the door to his apartment without touching the handle- a single word uttered and the heavy, wooden door opens mutely. The three of them step inside, Maryse quickly making it past the threshold before the door slams back shut, obscuring the cruel smile slowly spreading across the Inquisitor's face.

The Inquisitor's steps fade away slowly, Magnus' grip on the Lightwood siblings easing with each one. When they can no longer hear her, Maryse turns to Magnus and says, calmly enough, "You lied to the Inquisitor," as though she's impressed.

Magnus cocks an eyebrow. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I know my son," Maryse tells him, lips pulled down, waiting to be contradicted. "When he's upset he goes to sulk in some bar where he can break someone's nose-" and other bones that strike his fancy. "He doesn't go _clubbing_."

"There are girls in Pandemonium who'll kick his ass if he looks at them the wrong way," Magnus says with a smirk.

Maryse's lips tug up slightly, but her eyes remain cool. She nods, accepting the covert admission, and turns to Alec; her face softens a fraction. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse." Maryse nods and steps closer, her hand reaching to touch the faded runes on his throat. Alec lets her.

"How many did you lose?" she asks softly.

"A quarter," he answers honestly. Maryse seems shocked. She turns an accusatory glare towards Magnus.

"Fix this," she demands, as if he didn't try.

"I'm trying," Magnus tells her, his voice clipped and guarded, all traces of a smile gone. "It's not that easy."

"For God's sake, you're the High Warlock of Brooklyn!" his mother exclaims, throwing her hands in the air in clear exasperation. "What good are you if you can't fix a little curse?"

"It's not little," Magnus counters. "It's some of Eirlys' best work."

"I'll pay you," Maryse says as if she didn't hear a word Magnus' has said, as if she's found an angle that'll defiantly let her in. "Whatever you want, we can get it." Her eyes are feverish, but her resolve doesn't shatter. "You will heal my son." It's almost a request.

"I'm trying," Magnus repeats. It's almost a promise.

"You aren't trying hard enough!"

"He is." His mother's head snaps towards him like a whip, her eyes wide. Alec holds her gaze steady and repeats, slowly, "He's trying."

Maryse's shoulders slump in defeat. She looks tired and worn, wisps of her hair loose about her face, her clothes not as crisp as he's used to see them. She must have just returned from Idris.

A faint sound filters, breaking the pregnant silence. It's a soft melody Alec doesn't recognize, and a female voice singing- something about whining- from Magnus' back pocket. He stifles a groan, fishing his phone out, mouthing 'Clary' before answering with a stern, "Honey, this better be good."

Izzy's snickers are cut short by her own phone beeping. Maryse's phone goes off next, thankfully with the automatic ringtone it originally came with. She looks at the screen, surprised. "Yes, Lucian, hello," she greets, turning her back and taking a few steps towards the kitchen, seeking privacy but mostly looking for somewhere to run to.

"No, Alec's here-" Magnus says, pacing. Alec's eyes shift nervously towards his mother, hoping she hasn't heard the familiar way with which Magnus has just addressed him. "Yes, but- listen, no, he's somewhere off the bay. Yeah, he stopped chasing him after a while. It's better you don't go where he- no, but-"

"Jace just texted me," Izzy informs him and shoves her phone into Alec's hand. Alec can't help but feel a bit hurt that he's not the one to hear from Jace. He shoves the thought away and looks at the small screen of the phone. The message reads: Valentine's got his army ready. I'm heading towards the boat.

"What does it mean?" he asks. Izzy looks alarmed, her eyes dark, face ashen, mouth a thin, tight line. It must be bad.

"Valentine is hiding in a boat on the river. Jace said he's got bazillion demons ready to strike."

"And he's going there?" Alec's voice is rising. "Is he stupid?"

"Apparently." They exchange looks of measured concern. Measured, because anything else might lead to panic. "We should go." She looks at him and amends, "I mean- I should go."

Alec's stomach turns. "Call him," he pleads. "Talk to him."

"If he had half a mind to talk to me, he'd have called himself." Alec knows this. It doesn't stop him from wishing it wasn't so. Izzy looks sorry, sorry _for him_. Alec turns away from her, eyes fixed on Magnus- the only spot of color in the room.

"Shit," Magnus grumbles, voice grave. It makes Alec's skin crawl. "We'll be there. By the docks, call me when you get there." He hangs up, stabbing the red button on his phone with one perfectly manicured finger. He growls in frustration and throws it onto the sofa with too much force. It slides off to the carpet, scaring Chairman Meow. "This day," he says to the room at large, eyes rolled heavenward, his tone exhausted, "is as bad as Ping's sack dress."

Before Alec can ask what the hell does that mean and what did Clary even say, his mother is back in the living room. "Lucian said one of his pack and a vampire have been kidnapped by Valentine," She says. Magnus slumps a bit. Izzy stiffens.

"Clary said the same."

"Jace texted me," Izzy adds quietly. "He's heading to the boat."

"My battery's out," Alec mutters, but no one pays him any mind.

"We should go, as well," Maryse says. "If it is war Valentine wants, we shall oblige."

"Call all the Shadowhunters you know are close by," Magnus tells her. "We should need all the soldiers we can get." Maryse nods, her phone flying to her ear again.

"I'll do that too," Izzy quips and walks after her mother to the kitchen, casting none too subtle looks in Alec's direction.

"I want to come, too," Alec says before Magnus can tell him he can't.

"You'll get killed," Magnus retorts solemnly, his hand reaching for the dragontear on Alec's chest, pressing it closer. Alec can feel the Magnus' warmth radiating through the thin material of his shirt. He takes a step closer almost on instinct.

"Most everyone probably will, what with the amount of demons Valentine has on board."

"I don't want you to die."

"I don't want you to, either," Alec's voice gets lower, his eyes darting towards the kitchen anxiously, "but you're still going. I want to go too."

"You're not going," Magnus' eyes darken, something like broken glass beneath the surface of his stare and voice. Alec lifts his chin, his jaw set and eyes narrowed.

"You can't stop me," he says.

"You have to take the potion at eight and thirteen minutes," Magnus tells him instead of arguing. "You can come with us and lose all your marks if you want to, instead."

Alec's heart sinks. "What do you mean? I'll just drink it earlier."

"It doesn't work that way, darling," Magnus tone is gentle, but there's stubbornness behind his eyes, the knowledge this is important and he's not about to lose, because if he does- it's Alec who dies. "There's a regime for a reason. If you don't follow it, it won't work anymore."

"What-" the words barely make it out of his mouth in a hoarse whisper, struggling to get past his lips. The lump in his throat stops him from speaking further. He _has_ to go.

Magnus sighs and takes a careful step closer, the distance between them still big enough to be easily explained should Maryse enter. "The potion builds magic inside you. Regular portions enable it to contain and withhold the curse at bay. If the regime set is disrupted-" His hands find Alec's shoulders. "It won't slow it down anymore, but hasten it. You'll have half the time you'd normally expect without the potion."

Alec drops his gaze to the floor and murmurs, "How long?"

"Two weeks."

Alec makes a voice at the back of his throat in acknowledgement.

Magnus shakes him gently. "We'll be fine," he says, but Alec finds it hard to believe. "Stay here and take the potion in time. That's your top priority right now." He drops his hands as soon as Maryse comes back into the room. She eyes them, her face void of expression, and doesn't say anything regarding their proximity.

"Malik said to meet him at the bay," she says instead. Izzy appears behind her and adds, "Leila and the Jerseys are coming too."

"Good," Magnus says, but doesn't seem awfully pleased. He turns to Maryse fully and asks, "Do you know a Shadowhunter who can't fight but will be around to donate some blood?" She opens her mouth to ask but he cuts her off with, "It's for Alec-" there's a barely noticeable pause before he amends, "-xander's potion." Alec smiles. It sounds awfully like Alec Zander.

Maryse nods. "Ralf Auttenberg."

"Do you know where he is?"

She nods again. "Blue Moon on Adam's Street, he's always there drinking."

Magnus turns to Alec. "Go there before Santiago arrives. Don't take too long though; the blood has to be relatively fresh."

Alec nods weakly. Magnus' hand makes it halfway to his shoulder before he realizes what he's about to do. He drops his hand and says, "We'll be fine," instead. Alec manages a soft, broken laugh.

"Right."

Izzy's hand comes to squeeze his. "Really, we will," she says with a brave smile that might even be genuine, if a tad forced. Her eyes are burning. It puts a smile on his face.

"Be careful," he tells them all before they leave; it doesn't seem as though they've heard him. The shutting door leaves the apartment eerily quiet. He looks around and doesn't know what to do besides fidget and worry himself sick. He does that for an hour, his mind reinventing a hundred ways in which the battle he was forbidden from joining could end- none of them good. The ticking of the clock is maddening, but not nearly distracting enough to keep Alec's mind from wondering; he imagines Izzy under a Drevak, Jace mauled by an Oni, his mother surrounded with Mares, his father crashed under a Yokai horde, Magnus devoured by Ahi and blood. Their blood, red and slick all over the deck, dripping into the water until it's crimson.

The clock tells him it's too early to head out to meet Ralf.

Ralf.

Alec's never met him, but heard quite enough of the tales surrounding his character to feel like he has. Ralf Auttenberg: known less for his mastery with a longsword than his ability to hold uncanny amounts of whiskey. He had a wife once, a tiny blond thing no one's ever seen but Ralf's been keen enough to show a picture of to anyone after a beer or ten. She's been a mundane and died in a car accident, three months into her pregnancy. Ralf quit hunting afterwards, his career taking a sharp turn towards the nearest bar. He lives above one, now.

Alec's never met him, but he can't help to think it a little sad he has given everything up- everything he was and is- no matter how great the loss.

There's a growing black spot in the sky outside the window- somewhere over the river.

Alec looks at the clock again. Half an hour. Still too early.

It doesn't matter; he doesn't want to give up just because he has lost something precious to him.

Alec finds his backpack back in the guestroom, and he empties it of clothes and books- anything that'll weigh him down. He throws out the three Seraph blades Izzy lent him with the asinine hope he'll be able to use them. The stele he keeps, although it's not too useful either. When the bag is empty, he's struck with the realization he has no idea what to fill it with. He settles for bandages and antiseptic. He prepares holy water with a small, golden cross he finds in one of Magnus' many jewelry boxes, filling a couple of bottles with the clear, purified liquid. He takes his bow, soaks the heads of his arrows in the holy water and grabs a sword, hung on one of the walls above the bookshelves. When he grabs his gear and puts the black armor on- it feels heavy and wrong against his skin.

It's close to sundown and it's been nearly two hours. Alec tries not to think whether he'll make it on time. He leaves the apartment, the potion and the dragontear necklace behind, rushing towards 116th as fast as his now partially-human legs would let him.

He makes it there before the sun has set, so he waits outside, not too keen on sneaking in and getting attacked by a grumpy vampire. The first vampire to crawl out of the hotel is a woman in her forties, her hair as dark as her eyes. She eyes him closely and sniffs.

"Shadowhunter." Alec nods sheepishly. Her eyes narrow and her lips pull to show shiny, sharp fangs. "What do you want?"

"Is Raphael home?"

She looks thrown at the casual use of her leader's name. Alec tries not to fidget under the dark glower overcoming her otherwise gentle features.

"Who wants to know?" she asks suspiciously.

"Alexander Lightwood."

She takes a step back, startled. She ducks her head and mumbles, "I'll get him," before hastily backing into the dingy lair. She doesn't come back, but Raphael is out a few minutes later, dressed in white.

"I didn't know you talked about me," Alec says as if in greeting.

Raphael smiles. It doesn't seem half as dangerous as it should be. Alec takes a careful step back when Raphael tries to get closer. "I don't think it's a good idea," Alec gestures at the space between them. "Last time I-"

Raphael's fangs poke through his lips. "I didn't mind last time," he purrs, but doesn't move again. "Why are you here, _blue-eyes_? It's not time yet."

"I want one of your bikes."

Raphael laughs, loud and hearty, not at all like a blood-sucking monster.

"You truly _are_ connected to the Morgenstern boy, aren't you?"

"He's my _parabatai_." Anger flares in Alec's eyes and his voice comes out grating, defensive. Raphael's laugh dies down sharply.

"He asked a bike of me two nights ago," he explains.

"I need it for the same purpose."

"To chase after Valentine?" Raphael's smile twists. "You must be mad."

Alec shrugs. It's probably true. Raphael stands there, considering. "You won't be able to ride it," he says eventually and doesn't ask about the potion. Alec appreciates that.

He grins. "That's why I have you."

"I thought you said this-" Raphael repeats Alec's feeble gesture, indicating the large gap between their bodies. "Wasn't a good idea."

"It isn't."

Raphael's grin spreads slowly, all of his teeth showing, a white glim in the gradually darkening alley. He's on Alec in a flash, dragging him inside the hotel by the hand. Vampires let them pass without question, casting wry looks at the odd newcomer. Alec ignores them all, staring at his feet as they move from room to room and climb up stairs to the roof.

The roof is the color of tar, flat and endless, perfectly even and empty. Raphael tugs his hand, heading determinedly to the left corner of the roof. Raphael looks at him expectantly. Alec gives him a baffled look in return.

"These," Raphael point to a shimmering patch of air. "Are the bikes." Alec blinks and tries to look more closely. The air doesn't morph into shiny motorcycles so he quits trying pretty quickly.

"I can't see past the glamour."

Raphael sighs. "_Veo_." He mounts the air, sitting comfortably on a vehicle Alec can't see, looking truly _ridiculous_. He gestures for Alec to sit behind him. Stepping closer, Alec extends a hesitant hand, blindly groping until he can feel the leather of the seat beneath his fanned fingers. Carefully, he sits, bumping his knee on the bike in the process and almost toppling them both. Raphael laughs at him, but doesn't comment, just murmurs, "Hold on tight," before taking off towards the river.

The air gets colder the higher they get. Somewhere below the clouds but above the tallest city buildings- a wind blows, incessant and strong. It tugs at Alec's clothes and hair, chilling him through his coat and sweater. He is cold even where his chest is flushed to Raphael's back, his lips slowly turning blue and his eyes stinging.

They make it to the river fairly quickly, the water dark beneath them. Raphael directs the motorcycle lower until they almost touch the river, water spraying the soles of their shoes. It would've been fun if Alec hadn't seen the boat ahead- a massive, dark shape, like a pillar connecting the gathering, dark clouds above it to the boiling, nightmarish waters beneath. The closer they get, the colder the air becomes. It's magic, he knows, like the effects of Magnus' portal, only ten times stronger and evil. It sucks all the warmth away like a leech.

Raphael speeds towards the boat, heading higher again. They stop a safe distance away, far enough to escape the patrolling flying demons' notice.

"Are you sure you want to go there?" Raphael asks him over the sound of the wind. Alec looks down at the boat and sees black shapes moving, demons and Shadowhunters and blood mixed together in a nightmare that's far too vivid. He nods, his chin pressing against Raphael's shoulder.

"Yes."

Raphael turns his head slightly and they share a glance. He nods and the bike roars under them, surging forward. When the first demon sees them and takes offence at their presence, it tries to knock them off the bike bodily. Raphael drops them ten feet in the air to avoid getting killed, but they almost crash into another one about halfway down. The demons screech and scream, their beaks sharp, eyes shining, black like oil, fading in and out of Alec's partially human vision. A whole flock of them -murderous skeletal birds of prey- surrounds them momentarily. Alec leans back, tightening his hold on the bike, thighs pressed close to the leather seat, and prepares his bow to the center of the fading image of the horde. The first arrow strikes and a demon falls with a fiendish howl to the waters bellow. A second and a third follow.

"What are you doing?" Raphael whispers, panicked, when the birds tighten their circle around them. "You can't kill them all!"

"You're right," Alec takes out another demon to his left. "Hey! Monsters," he calls, sliding further away from Raphael on the bike, carefully moving until both his legs are on the same side. "Watch this!" he aims at one of the larger demons right before him, releasing the arrow and sliding off the bike almost simultaneously. He can only hope the demons will follow him and let Raphael be.

They do.

The fall is shorter than he had anticipated and far more painful upon impact than he'd hoped. One of the demons throws him off course, slamming into him because he's falling too fast for it to even attempt catching him with its claws. It softens his fall- if only slightly. Alec hits the deck rolling- too close to the edge with barely enough time to grab a stray rope to hang on to before he plunders headfirst into the murky river. The rope tears the skin on the palm of his hand until he bleeds. It slickens his hold, and he slips a few inches down as a result. It's not far enough down to prevent him from climbing back up.

As soon as he swings a leg over to the deck, something bites him beneath the knee, dragging him up and over. Alec can't resist a groan of pain. He doesn't thrash though, keeps as still as he can because dead prey is not as fun to play with. The demon shakes him but lets go when he stays limp and silent. It growls its displeasure with the impassive catch. Alec risks a glance as it moves away and sees a mountain of black, coarse fur, bone-white spikes protruding from its back all along its spine.

Alec gets up, wobbling on one foot, careful as not to make a sound, and unsheathes the borrowed sword. The steel gleams. Swiftly, he aims the sword at the demon's back, jumping back when blood sprouts from the new open wound. The demon roars and turns toward him, its face a mess of dark matter and too many eyes, too many teeth and one long, forked tongue. It leaps forwards, snarling, its claws a hair breadth away from beheading Alec. He dives to the side and tries to cut it again, somewhere near the ribs. The spikes come hurling toward him from the demon's back, the tip black with poison, before the sword connects. He narrowly avoids getting hit, dropping down and under the demon. Without thinking, he sticks the sword into its soft belly. The demon screams and tries to get away. It's not fast enough. Alec moves the blade from navel to sternum-only stopping when he meets the resistance of bone. Warm blood sprays his face and intestines begin to pool all around him, sticking to his form before he moves away. The demon howls, thrashing in its death throes, before it stills and turns to dust. It's only then that Alec realizes he has killed six demons in the span of fifteen minutes. He expects to feel different, more like Jace maybe, or his father- but all he feels is hollow. Indifferent. As if it doesn't matter. It scares him a bit, because it _should_.

Alec spares a glance to the sword. It glows beneath the coverage of blood, its light pale and warm, not entirely unlike a seraph blade. The blade is curved and wide, the hilt a heavy piece of carved wood, the overall shape more similar to that of a cane than that of a deadly weapon. He doesn't get to examine it too closely because another demon tackles him- a great, green Oni with three eyes and a snout like a pig's. Alec whirls around and beheads it with one smooth motion. The monster falls to the ground, another quickly coming to replace it.

Alec doesn't know how long he fights and fends them off. He's lost count sometime after the twentieth, a vicious, horned snake he barely managed to kill. Darkness claims the ship upon evening's arrival and the demons become a black, fanged mess he can't see or fight. They flicker in and out of his vision, even the slower ones easily escaping his now blind swinging. He moves without thinking, waving the sword three-hundred and sixty degrees until it hits, cuts, kills. His strength is quickly waning, though, and the demons are too strong and too many for any actual hope.

But he hopes, hopes and prays as another demon screams and falls. He hopes someone lives to tell of the battle.

A claw gets Alec square in the stomach- a gash deep enough to bleed profusely but a bit too high to hit his kidney. He stumbles on something lying just a step behind his current footing and falls to the ground with no time for a yelp of surprise. He lands on a body, twisted and broken, bleeding from a large hole in the chest. It's a man, tall and dark-haired.

Alec's heart stops before he has the chance to glance at the face. In a moment of irrational fear, a single word overwhelms his mind: _Magnus_.

_Please don't let it be Magnus_.

He sees the face. It's Malik.

Alec doesn't feel anything, only the faint traces of something he can't quite place as pity. He doesn't have enough time to sort through his feelings and find the appropriate ones to replace the sudden, flooding relief because the air steers on his left. A demon springs at him, a smeared shape with something like a horn aimed straight at him. Alec doesn't have enough time to dodge.

A faint whisper filters through the paralyzing fear consuming Alec's mind, slowly growing into a fierce hiss. Blue fire erupts right before his nose, shielding him from the demon. When the monster connects with the flames- the momentum of its jump too great to stop- it screams, broken and wild. The fire cries its victory like a serpent, growing stronger and taller around Alec's prone form. The demons back away. Alec moves back as far as he can, scrambling to his feet and running away from the flame and the monsters towards the luminous spot of pink beckoning him through the darkness.

Magnus doesn't seem happy to see him. Arm still stretched out, sparks and heavy silver rings about his splayed fingers, he looks exhausted and furious. His eyes stop Alec dead in his tracks. "What the hell are you doing here?" Magnus demands, feral and vicious like the fire he wields.

_You're alive_.

The air about them doesn't move, still like the words stuck in Alec's throat, stale like the excuses Magnus probably thinks he has. Alec straightens his posture and lifts his chin, his mouth in a tight straight line, voice calm as he says, "It's my fight, too."

Magnus' fingers curls like claws, the magic crackling about him thrown like a cannon ball to the vicinity of Alec's right side. A demon howls and falls on the floor, silent. "You didn't drink your potion," The warlock states, voice and face suddenly cold.

"No."

Magnus takes a step closer; fire flares where he once stood, moving slowly, like a snake, like his mood, to create a circle around the two of them. The demons stay out. "And you came here."

"Yes."

Magnus' face morphs, the taut skin stretched across his bones reshaping into a ferocious snarl, animalistic and ruthless, brittle like the season and tearing at the seams. "I never thought your stupidity would impair your sense of self preservation."

Alec refuses to let the words hurt him, stab his heart and stomp on the remains. "I had to be here."

Magnus growls. "You _had_ to do just one thing," he barks. "You _had_ to stay put. You _had_ to take the damn potion. You didn't _have_ to come here." He takes another step. The cold, energy-drained air between them heats up. "In fact, you _shouldn't_ have come. I specifically told you not to."

Alec grits his teeth and snaps back, "What, I should have let you all die?"

Magnus' eyes narrow in response. "Because you were doing such a splendid job of it back there," he jerks his head towards the first demon his fire saved Alec from. "Are you suicidal or just dense?"

"I," Alec makes sure to pause, each word escorted by a brief silence. "Can take care of myself."

Magnus snorts. Alec closes the remaining distance between them in three angry strides. He grabs a handful of Magnus' obnoxious shirt and leather coat, yanking until they're roughly the same height. "Shut up," he snaps.

Magnus' hands land on his shoulders and shove him away. "Was it that hard to understand?" Magnus drawls, voice tightening around his anger. "'Don't come here, there're too many fucking demons and you're human' wasn't clear enough for you?"

"It's not about that," Alec tries to keep his voice under control, fists clenched and muscles tense. Magnus sneers. "Everyone I know is on this ship. I can't be somewhere else."

"Why not? Why not-"

"Because we'll all probably die tonight," Alec's voice is soft, overridden with the chaos around them. Magnus' eyes widen and he stills. "I want to be here if it happens. I want to fight and die like everyone else, even if I die faster."

"You choose duty over your own life?"

"It's not duty, Magnus," Alec growls. "It's who I am. I'm one of them. If I can't fight as a Shadowhunter, I want to die as one."

"So living's not an option anymore?" Magnus' voice is subdued, his stance even more rigid than before. Emotion flickers in his bright eyes. Alec hopes it might be understanding, acceptance.

"They're my family," Alec says simply. It's all there is too it. "I want to protect them."

Magnus' eyes scan their surroundings before settling stubbornly on Alec's. He doesn't say a word.

"We don't have time for this," Alec insists, a bit apologetic. "Look around you."

"It's a nice circle," Magnus declares without much heat, staring at the flames. His voice is small, not entirely defensive; it lacks the dangerous edge. "Perfect shape."

"How long can you hold it up?" Alec asks instead of arguing the moot point.

"Two, maybe three minutes before I pass out and the wards around the ship come back up."

"And that'll be bad."

"Me passing out? Certainly," Magnus almost smiles. The tension slowly seeps out of his body. Without it to hold him tall and angry, he looks much smaller and so very tired. "It's the only thing allowing us to fight on the boat."

"Put it out," Alec says and moves to press his back against Magnus' own, the sword held tight in his hand. The heat against it back is immensely comforting. "We can keep them off for a while if we keep like this."

A scream interrupts Magnus' forthcoming reply, and suddenly, his response doesn't even matter. The sound is terribly familiar and it strikes a chord within Alec's heart. He sets off running, following the impulse and the voice: "Izzy!"

He moves past the fire but it doesn't burn. He wouldn't care much even if it did. He can see Izzy up ahead, sprawled on the floor beneath a monster ten times her size, all the sharp teeth and claws customary to a Fouke. There's a pool of blood beneath her head, and she's not moving.

Suddenly, the demon is flung aside, faint sparks of a spell fading where it once stood, looming over Alec's sister. With a brief glance over his shoulder, he sees Magnus right behind him, his face ashen and more exhausted than it had been a few minutes ago. When they reach Izzy, Alec skids on the blood, _her blood_, and lands on hands and knees by her right side.

"Iz, God, are you alright?" Alec whispers, words barely coming out; he knows there won't be any response by the paleness of Izzy's skin, by the warmth and extent of the spilled blood. He doesn't know what to do besides sit there, shaking, pulling his sister's head into his lap, murmurings soft comforts in her ear.

A hand, heavy and warm, lands on Alec's shoulder. He whirls around, finds Magnus' eyes and croaks, "Do something."

Magnus crouches by him, his expensive designer jeans soaking in red, reaching out to Izzy's forehead with two fingers. His touch spreads light from her forehead all the way down to her neck, beneath her gear, all over her skin. Her body heats up rapidly. With a sudden _pop _and a bright flash of white, the light and the heat are gone. Color gradually returns to Izzy's cheeks. Alec's fingers automatically fumble to find her pulse. It's steady.

"Thank you," Alec mumbles, suddenly tired, his shoulders slumped. His hands stroke Izzy's hair, carefully avoiding the injury at the back of her head. "God, thank you."

"I've never been called that before," Magnus laughs shakily, leaning heavily against Alec's side, pressed so close Alec can feel each breath. "I'm going to pass out in a minute." He tells him. "If I end up dead, I'm gonna kill you."

Alec nods. "You can trust me."

He won't let them die.

Magnus smiles softly against Alec's neck. "I know." But his breath is shallow, slowing. "I do." Magnus leans in closer, his chin settling on Alec's shoulder, digging into his flesh, his head a heavy weigh. True to his word, Magnus is out like a light before Alec thinks of a response.

Alec has on hand in Izzy's hair. His other finds a possessive lodge around Magnus' waist.

The boat creaks. A demon growls in the distance. Something black moves in the periphery of Alec's vision, about to lunge. The floor breaks beneath the monster before it springs. The whole boat moans, as if in pain, metal screaming and floorboards groaning as the wood splinters. There's a terrible sound, piercing and curt, and Alec has precisely three seconds to duck a torn metal rope flying his way. He somehow manages. The whole ship is rocking below him, coming apart slowly, one screw at a time. It tilts sharply, and someone shouts; a scream and the sound of a body hitting water.

People are falling off the ship.

_Shadowhunters_ _drowning_.

They have to get out of there, fast.

* * *

**A/N:** Have you seen the cast talking to the fans? aren't they adorable?

**Spanish fixed thanks to KairacahraFlower Goddess!**

Excerpt from the next chapter: "Magnus sighs and snuggles closer. Their breath quickly syncs, _in and out_, _I'm alive_ and _I'm here_, _I love you_. They fall asleep together- a tangle of limbs and forgotten injuries. Just holding on, tight and tight_er_, because letting go is no longer an option."


	8. 07: Sharks

**07: Sharks**

Carrying Magnus and Izzy proves to be far more difficult given the circumstances. The boat shakes constantly, torn apart from within by some force Alec doesn't know how to name and doesn't really have the mind to try. The floor crumbles beneath his feet, and while it certainly keeps the demons from attacking him while he moves the three of them closer to the gunwale, it also makes the journey far more dangerous than it would've been otherwise. His leg hurts like a bitch, his stomach still bleeds and his eyes burn with the effort of Seeing, but he moves forward inch by inch, Izzy slung over his shoulders, Magnus propelled against him with a hand around his waist to support the weigh. Their progress is too slow.

Yet another hole opens to their left. Alec carefully steps around it.

A body slides across the deck somewhere to the far right, skidding until gravity throws it over and into the river. There's a trail of blood left behind. It's black under the moonless sky. Alec bites his lip and tries to focus on walking.

He's out of breath by the time he gets close enough to peer over the edge and see the water below. He wonders if he should just jump, if it won't hurt Izzy in some way. He doesn't have any other choice though, and Magnus has closed her wound. She should be fine.

The boat gives another ominous groan.

Alec doesn't let himself dwell, willing his legs to obey and take him over. They fall and hit and there's _no air_ in the icy darkness of the river.

Alec doesn't expect the water to be quite that cold. The temperature steals his breath, his muscles momentarily immobile. He remembers oxygen sometime later.

When they resurface, Magnus and Izzy seem to be alright, although both still unconscious. Alec breathes for the first time. He checks if both their heads are above the water line and keeps on paddling, kicking the water with his good leg. He doesn't know what else to do. There's nowhere to go, and he can't see the shore.

"Alexander?" A voice calls behind him, male, heavily accented and sort of wheezy. Alec tries to turn around to look but it takes him a while. He can't see much in the darkness even when he's facing the correct direction. "Alexander, are you alright?" the voice inquires. It's louder now, closer. When the stranger's face finally appears some distance away, distinguishable only by his fair hair, Alec is almost relieved to discover Dorian Harley.

"I'm fine. You?" Alec calls back, noting the large, bleeding gash on Harley's forehead.

"A few bruises. Is that your sister?" Harley swims closer. "She alright?" he asks, brown eyes already shifting to Alec's other charge. The answer is unimportant, and he doesn't wait to hear it. "Who is that?" Harley asks, but his eyes darken with realization before the last syllable leaves his lips. By the time Alec opens his mouth to answer, a carefully neutral mask settles over the man's features.

"Magnus Bane," Alec answers, his tone challenging. "He saved my life. My sister's too."

"Is that so," Harley mutters. His features shift momentarily to convey his utter disbelief at such an occurrence, and his dismay at the blatant lie.

"_Yes_."

Harley's eyes narrow slightly. His glare is mild, but it speaks volumes:_ You could've saved a Shadowhunter_; _you should've saved one of us_.

And he could, Alec realizes with sudden clarity, he could and didn't. It's a belated, cold epiphany and one he feels no guilt over- just anger at the silent accusation and a jolt of fierce protectiveness for the warlock in his arms.

Harley sees something in his expression and wrinkles his nose. He turns his eyes to look at the drowning ship, then at the blackness over Alec's shoulder. "We should get you fellas to the boats," he says, resolute.

"What boats?"

Harley jerks his head to the direction he came from. "You ended up on the wrong side, lad. There are lifeboats on the other."

"Is that why you're here?"

Harley shrugs, the gesture swallowed by water. "Let me help you with your sister," he offers. Alec nods. Izzy ends up pressed against Harley's back, her arms around his neck, locked in place by one of his own. Alec shifts his hold on Magnus to one much more secure and far less straining, and swims after Harley's departing form. The distance between them grows steadily larger, chiefly because Alec has only one limb to paddle with. He can still see the shock of white hair in the distance- it's more than enough to show him the way.

By the time they make it anywhere near a boat that's not sinking, Alec's arms have gone numb and his vision turned blurry. Dorian Harley is a smear of pasty white far, far ahead. Everything else is entirely black.

Alec swims. He doesn't really care where to anymore.

A gruff voice disrupts the semi-tranquil trance he's gotten himself into. "Oi, Lightwood, need a hand?"

Alec's head is heavy and extremely hard to lift. He tries. All he sees is another smear of color, dark this time, with something like a halo around the head. He doesn't even try to recognize the Shadowhunter, just bites out a harsh, "Yes."

Large hands pull him and Magnus out of the water and on something wonderfully solid and still. "Stay with me, kid," the gruff voice orders. Alec cracks his eyes halfway open.

"I'm fine," he mumbles.

"I think you need to check up the dictionary on that one," the gruff voice says. "It ain't how 'fine' looks."

Alec huffs but doesn't argue. He doesn't have enough air in his lungs to. "Sit up," the voice commands. Alec tries, he really, really does, but his limbs refuse to work now that he's in relative safety.

"I'm fine," Alec insists, and doesn't move. His words get him an incredulous snort in response.

"Well, at least let me get the Downworlder off you."

Alec shakes his head violently, tightening his grip on the form he forgot was there. "_We're_ fine," he repeats.

"You're not fine, Alexander," Harley's voice interjects. Good. It means Izzy's nearby, too. "Your leg's well on its way to necrosis, and your stomach is torn open." A cool hand grabs his shoulder. "Let go, lad."

Alec shakes his head again. His vision swims. Must be the blood loss. From this angle, the only warning he gets is the sight of black leather boots, the wooden floorboards vibrating against his cheek with their approach. He doesn't have enough strength to resist when the men pull him and Magnus apart.

x

Alec wakes up when they're already near the shore, New York's skyscrapers a mess of rectangles protruding the sky in the dim morning light. The stench of copper and loss lingers in the air.

"You sister's alright," Harley's voice tells him. "Your warlock too."

"He's not my warlock."

"Sure seemed that way, lad."

Alec sighs and turns his head to glance at Harley, sitting across him, legs crossed at the ankles, a carefully calculated disarming air about him. His eyes search Alec's for a reaction. Alec doesn't know which of them he should hide. He turns away before Harley has the chance to gauge anything from his expression.

He looks around the small boat to distract himself from Harley's stare. Izzy's lying on tattered, wool blankets across from him, her injuries neatly bandaged. Magnus is a few feet away, sprawled on the floor. Alec grits his teeth but doesn't say a thing.

They make it to the shore without incident. Theirs is not the first boat to arrive. There are more survivors, a small gathering by the water's edge.

He never thought of the survivors. Of the chance he might get out alive, and his parents and-

_Jace_, his light hair easily distinguishable in the cluster of Shadowhunters. He hasn't thought of him at all during the fight, didn't wonder or seek him out, didn't think his brother might be wounded or dead. His stomach churns with unease and guilt. He refrains from coming any closer, absurdly afraid Jace might be able to read his betrayal all across his face. Might know, somehow, and hate him for it.

He turns to look for his parents, holding on to hope with both hands. His mother finds him first, coming from behind to yell in his ear.

Alec sighs in relief. It seems as though they have dodged a bullet.

"What are you doing here?" Maryse demands.

"I'm okay," Alec answers the question she hasn't voiced yet. He can see it on her face, in the crease of her eyebrows, in the white knuckled fist and shaking lips. "Izzy's with Harley." He jerks his head to the right, arms occupied with supporting Magnus' tall form against his own. Maryse exhales quietly. Her shoulders loosen. "Is dad alright?" Alec asks. Maryse stiffens.

"So he wasn't on your boat?" her face darkens. "I don't know," she admits after a short pause and a brief glance around the gathered crowd. "I lost him halfway through the battle."

"He'll be alright," because believing that is all they can do.

"He's your father-" Maryse smiles tightly.

"And nothing can bring him down," Alec says for her. She nods, curtly. By the look in her eyes Alec can tell it's no longer a topic she's willing to discuss with him.

"You saved him," Maryse notes, her eyes on Magnus. Her expression remains perfectly schooled while her eyes hold the same suspicion Harley's did.

"He saved Iz." Alec shrugs. That's all she really needs, and wants, to know. "And me."

Maryse nods, accepting. "Are you coming home?"

"I can't," Alec shakes his head. "I'm still-" he trails off, frustrated. "I can't."

Maryse face falls. "I had hoped that-"

Alec shakes his head again.

"Very well." She doesn't seem pleased, though. "Will you be staying with him?" she gestures at the warlock in Alec's arms. "He owes you his life, doesn't he?"

_I owe him mine,_ he thinks, but answers with a weak, "Yeah."

"Very well," Maryse repeats. "Will you be taking Jace with you?" her voice wavers, if only slightly, on his name.

"I thought he'd be going home now that this whole mess is over."

"So have I, but he doesn't seem too inclined to do so." Her eyes dart to Jace, standing at the edges of the crooked circle of Shadowhunters. "He's not speaking to me, it seems."

"Give him some time. He'll come around eventually."

Maryse shifts her gaze to Alec with a slight smile. "I hope so."

"I'll talk to him," Alec assures her. Her smile grows, just a little. He takes off to do just that, because she'd expect him to.

Jace seems to be the only person not surprised to see him or Magnus there. He greets them with an easy smile. Alec's guilt grows. "I just wanted to tell you mom's freaked out by your silent treatment," Alec tells him earnestly, but doesn't look him in the eye. He wonders if he should apologize. Jace's smile falls. The anger Alec can spot in his eyes doesn't seem to be directed at him.

"Good. She should be."

Alec rolls his eyes. "You're acting like a child."

Jace scowls but doesn't reply. It's odd. Alec eyes him carefully for bruises on the head; there aren't any. Jace seems remarkably spotless. "Are you alright?" Alec asks, because that seems to be what every Shadowhunter does these days.

Jace shrugs, "No serious injury."

"That's not what I asked."

"Let's get out of here," Jace says instead of answering, pushing past his comrades with brute force. A way parts before him. Alec follows. When they're out of earshot, Alec repeats his question.

"I met Valentine," is all Jace is willing to say. Alec decides he has neither the energy nor the patience to probe Jace on the matter, that maybe it's best if he won't talk to Jace about the battle at all. Jace lets out a small sigh of relief when Alec finally drops it.

They get to the loft fairly quickly. Jace locks himself in his room as soon as they enter, almost squashing Chairmen Meow in his haste. The cat gives a scandalized mewl.

"Ignore him, Chairman," Alec tells him, before heading for Magnus' bedroom. "We had a rotten day." He kicks the door open and steps into the room and over to the bed, pouring Magnus onto the mattress. Chairman Meow springs on the bed and settles on Magnus' stomach.

Alec makes sure Magnus is tucked in properly before leaving for the bathroom. He really needs a shower.

Peeling off his clothes takes as much time as undressing his wounds from Harley's makeshift bandaging. The bite-marks on his leg look infected and raw, the wound on his stomach barely healed. The _Iratze_ Harley applied to his skin are long gone, unable to hold on to his human flesh. Everything hurts, muscles and bones screaming with every movement he has to make. Even the warm water doesn't help. The tension remains. The exhaustion sinks deeper into his core.

He showers mechanically, barely paying attention at all to what he's doing. He does his wounds the same way. Even the burn of antiseptic barely registers.

Alec exits the bathroom to find Magnus sprawled across his bed, hugging a pillow and looking like a bear awoken midwinter. He brightens as soon as Alec enters his line of vision. He doesn't get up though. Alec figures he's still dead tired. He can relate.

"Hey, handsome," Magnus greets with a smile.

"You look tired," Alec observes mildly.

Magnus shrugs, "I am." His eyes fix on Alec's chest with a slight, worried frown that disappears as soon as Alec sees it. "Is this your way of waking me up or did you forget to take a shirt in with you?" Magnus asks, his tone almost successful at appearing playful and light. Magnus' eyes remain trained on Alec's face. Alec blinks, quickly glancing down at himself. He's really not wearing a shirt.

"I didn't forget," Alec argues, a slight blush creeping high up his cheeks. Magnus cocks an eyebrow, very carefully and deliberately. Alec refuses to drop his gaze. He fists his hands to keep from fidgeting.

"You're an awful liar." With a flick of Magnus' wrist, cotton appears around Alec's torso. It's soft and warm against his damp skin. Alec's more than grateful for it.

"It had to be pink, didn't it?" Alec fakes a martyred sigh, tugging at the newly conjured tee. He doesn't really mind the color, although he would prefer it to be darker.

"I always wondered how that particular shade would affect your complexion," Magnus says. Sparks appear around his fingers again, and the soft, pink shirt is swapped by another- white, low on the collar and extremely tight. "There you go- a neutral, boring white." Alec rolls his eyes, settling by Magnus' side on the bed. The sheets are cool against his bare feet. "You're no fun," Magnus informs him, "and possibly achromatopsiatic."

"You mean achromatic."

Magnus pouts. "See? No fun at all."

Alec ignores him. "Do I wanna know what this really means?" Alec points at the bright, pink latters printed across his chest in bold. Something about lollipops. Magnus grins.

"Nothing you would approve of."

Alec smiles despite himself. He lets himself fall to the side and onto the mattress, curling up to Magnus' warmth until his head rests against the warlock's chest. "How are you feeling?" he asks, words muffled by Magnus shirt. Magnus' heartbeat is steady and strong. It puts Alec's own heart at ease.

"Happy," Magnus tells him seriously, slinging an arm around Alec's waist- mindful of his injury- bringing him closer. He hums in contentment, face buried in Alec's hair. "Butterflies and fuzzy feelings included."

"At least you didn't say 'hot and bothered'," Alec murmurs with a chuckle and a sigh.

"I'm not quite up for it now, darling," Magnus' voice is laced with amusement, but he lets a note of regret drop for effect. "I'll hold you up to that in a few hours." Magnus tightens his hold. Alec lets him despite the pressure it puts on his torn abdomen.

"I'm just glad you're alright," Alec tells him, closing his eyes and breathing the scent of magic and apple scented fabric softener. "You were one of the people I came onboard for."

Magnus tangles their feet together before murmuring, "I know," into his hair. "And I respect your decision." The door shuts and locks itself with neither of them moving. Alec has a dark suspicion, lurking somewhere at the back of his mind, that he wouldn't care or move even if someone did come in. That he'd stay like this forever if he only could.

"It's not that I don't want to reverse the curse," Alec tries to explain; partially because he feels he owes Magnus at least that, mostly because he wants him to understand _why_. "I do, it's just that-"

"-There'd be no point if there's no one left to fight for," Magnus finishes for him. "I understand. I do." Alec risks glancing up. Magnus' expression stills his heart.

Magnus lets out a small, bitter chuckle. "You came along just when I was about to faint, and I couldn't hold off the wards anymore and you're practically _human_ and I was-"

"-Afraid I'll get killed by a demon while you're unconscious." And Alec understands that, too- the anger and the words and the reason why.

Magnus sighs and snuggles closer. Their breath quickly syncs, _in and out_, _I'm alive_ and _I'm here_, _still breathing_. They fall asleep together- a tangle of limbs and forgotten injuries. Just holding on, tight and tight_er_, because letting go is no longer an option.

x

Alec wakes up at noon without Magnus by his side. Two things catch his attention: the sound of a shower running and the fresh, white bandages on his person. Magnus has already patched him up by the looks of it. Alec gets up with apprehension, ready for the pain to shoot up his leg and send him crashing on his face. It doesn't happen, and it makes Alec all sorts of happy. The mood lasts as long as it takes him to get to the kitchen and see Jace's miserable self molesting the coffee machine.

"Hey," Alec greets, although Jace must've sensed him coming, must know he's there without even looking. Jace doesn't reply. Alec can read the forming grimace on his face by the sharp lines of his shoulders, the muscles tensing on his back.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Jace warns him. Alec huffs.

"Tough luck," he tells him. Jace groans. "When're you going home?" Alec asks.

Jace whirls around, a baffled look plastered on his face. "What?" as if that's not what he thought Alec came to discuss. Alec wonders if there's something he doesn't know, like there always seems to be with Jace.

"I asked," Alec starts slowly, as if he's talking to a child, completely ignoring the issue he knows nothing about but Jace apparently doesn't want him to address. "When are you going home?"

"I can't," Jace tells him, relaxing slightly. "Maryse kicked me out."

Alec doesn't argue with Jace's phrasing. _You're the one who can go home_, he thinks, in what he hopes isn't bitterness. "She wants you back," he says, neutralizing his tone.

"Right," Jace snorts.

"She said so herself."

Jace's eyes widen in disbelief, and then narrow in suspicion. "Is this some kind of ploy to get me out of the house so you and Magnus can have sex?"

"_What?_" Alec sputters. Jace demonstrates with his fingers, smirking as a blush creeps up Alec's cheeks at the obscene gesture. "That's not what this is about."

Jace's expression remains dubious, surprised only for one, fleeting moment that Alec doesn't bother with denial. Alec glares at him, the effect somewhat ruined by the deep, red shade of his cheeks.

"I have absolutely no desire to prolong your stay here more than strictly necessary," Magnus' voice filters from his bedroom. "Sex or no."

"I knew it!" Jace exclaims. Magnus gives him an unimpressed look as he saunters out of the room, a fluffy towel wrapped around his head.

Alec diverts his glare towards Magnus. "Don't distract him!" Magnus has the decency to look apologetic. Alec turns back to the conversation at hand. "Mom wants you home. You obviously want to go home," he says. "_Go home._"

"Who died and made you queen of logic?" Jace mutters under his breath. His chair poofs into nonexistence and he promptly drops to the floor, almost hitting his head on the edge of the counter. Magnus inspects his nails innocently, untouched by the sudden death glare Jace sends his way.

"Watch your tongue, sweetheart," the warlock scolds, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Or you might accidently swallow it." Or be made to.

Alec tries to hide his grin. "Go home, Jace," he repeats. "Tell Max hi for me."

Jace turns to look at Alec, expression blank, emotions flickering too fast in his eyes to identify. His mouth settles in a familiar guilty line and his eyebrows furrow just so. Alec shakes his head. It's been a while since he's seen this particular expression on Jace's face. "It's alright," he assures his brother. "You should go."

"Are you sure?" for the first time in years, Jace sounds younger than he likes to pretend to be. Suddenly Alec can see in him the boy he had to watch over and protect the back of.

"Yes." _I will be fine_. "Mom misses you."

Jace nods, uncertainly. He scrambles off the floor and heads for his room, emerging ten minutes later with a duffel bag on his shoulder and a jacket on his arm. When Jace looks over, his eyes somewhat skittish, Alec makes an impatient gesture. "Shoo."

Jace smirks. He opens the apartment door with flourish and throws "Use protection, guys," over his shoulder. Alec hurls a stray mug at him. The door closes before the poor thing even has the chance to connect with Jace's head. A spell stops its movement mere inched before it hits the door and breaks.

"Please refrain from destroying my apartment," Magnus murmurs into Alec's ear. The mug makes a clean U turn, floating back to its rightful place on the kitchen table.

"I was attempting to destroy _Jace's face_," Alec mutters. The mug lands safely before him, almost taunting. Alec scowls. "You're no fun at all, you know that?"

Magnus beams. "Your words are arrows to my bleeding heart," he says.

"Mock the archer, why don't you," Alec grumbles as Magnus settles on the stool by his side. The mug glides on the counter and halts sharply before him, slowly filling with coffee. Alec sighs. "Ave atque vale," he mumbles, half joking, half not.

Magnus turns to glance at him, his eyes sharp and calculating, the careful look of someone threading on unknown land. "I may not be a Shadowhunter darling, but I've known enough of you over the years to know on what occasion the phrase is used. Why?"

Alec shrugs. "I lost my bow," he answers, mourning not only the loss of a weapon but all that it represented. Magnus' face brightens considerably, the reawakened worry settling down and polite sympathy taking its place. "I couldn't keep it and carry both you and Iz, so I left it behind." Sympathy shifts to guilt. Alec shakes his head with a slight, encouraging smile. "It's fine."

"I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to be," Alec tells him honestly. "At least I managed to keep your sword."

Magnus frowns, "I'll assume you mean 'sword- a weapon', not 'sword- a euphemism'."

Alec blinks at him. Magnus shakes his head, biting a smile. "Don't mind me." The smile shows, just a little, sweet and teasing. "What sword?"

Alec shifts around in his seat, uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he blurts immediately. "I know I shouldn't have taken it, but you weren't here to ask for permission-"

"-Untwist you panties, honey," Magnus tells him seriously, sipping his coffee. "I'm not going to scold you. You haven't been quite naughty enough to deserve it."

Alec gestures toward a soggy, black heap by the front door, the leer lost on him. Something silver gleams under the cover of coarse, black cloth. "That sword."

Magnus sets his coffee and snaps his fingers. The sword appears on the table alongside the mug. His eyes widen, and while Alec fully expects him to reach out for the weapon, Magnus keeps his hands to himself. They are shaking.

Alec doesn't ask and tries not to stare and demand anything more than Magnus is willing to reveal. Magnus remains still for a long, uncomfortable moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is cowed and lower than Alec has ever heard it. "It's not a sword," he starts, "It's called Klewang." Alec doesn't recognize the linguistic origin of the word, but the drop and fall of the vowels is hypnotizing. Magnus' eyes are far when he continues, "First used in the Aceh war-" Indonesian then, "-it belonged to my father. My human one."

Alec shifts his chair closer, pressing their bodies together- shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, trying to offer some comfort. The blade had the ability to exorcise demons; it's only too easy for Alec to imagine what Magnus' father must've used it for. "I don't know why I kept it all these years," Magnus says, voice raw. The emotion on his face remains mild, controlled. Almost calm. "It was one of the few things I took with me when I left." He lifts his eyes to look at Alec, boring into him with eyes too old and too tired. "At least it had done some good."

"It saved my life."

"It's good that I've kept it, then." There's a smile hidden somewhere in Magnus' gaze, a hint of it in the curl of his mouth. With a guiding hand on his cheek, Alec tastes it against his lips. Magnus leans into the offered touch eagerly, turning on the stool until they are facing each other. Magnus' arms come around Alec's sides, trapping him against the table. Alec doesn't mind. "What did you say before about being hot and bothered?" Magnus breathes the question against Alec's ear, but the words barely register at all. When his lips move, teeth grazing the arch of his neck, Alec shudders, the flesh still tender from the Drevak attack he had sustained. He slides off his stool, moving until he's standing with Magnus' legs closing on his thighs, his arms tight around Alec's waist. Alec presses closer and tangles both hands in Magnus' hair, tugging viciously until the warlock lifts his head, releasing Alec's neck. With a wicked grin, Alec pulls him down, crashing their lips together.

"Are you?" Alec murmurs between kisses. Magnus smiles against his lips. He trails a finger from Alec's neck to his chest- stopping just above his heart- when a sudden weigh appears where his touch left Alec's skin burning. Magnus tugs at it until Alec's so close he can feel the rise and fall of each shuddered breath. With a swift glance, Alec discovers the dragontear held tightly in Magnus' fist, the thin silver chain it's connected to biting into Alec's neck. He has no space to lean closer in order to ease the strain. Magnus smirks and purrs, "Very, darling," before stealing Alec's breath away.

Magnus slips from his high perch on the stool right into Alec's arms. Using the necklace to his advantage, he pulls Alec along, never leaving his mouth. Alec doesn't care where he's led to as long as they don't have to break contact to get there. "Mari kita bersama-sama selamanya tak peduli apa yang terjadi," it's that language again, the same accent and teasing vowels, burnt into his skin with each kiss, each touch of Magnus' hands against his back, ribs, stomach. There's not enough air, not enough space, not enough of _him_. They reach the nearest available flat surface and fall as one, bodies close, pulled and held together until the raw edges of one's beginning and another's end blur and merge. The need, primal and wild, to reach and touch, taste and own, heats the blood and speeds their breath until air is not enough, nothing is. _More_, and they breathe together, suffocating, burning up and crashing down on the high of what the heart wants but the mind is too afraid to take.

_More_. There's hunger dissolving each cell, reaching out to grab and possess, consume what is offered and what's denied. Take until there is nothing left, until they are one and the same, the threads of their being knit tight together, until unraveling one would mean the end of the other. "What does that mean?" they aren't close enough yet, there's the void, mocking, tempting. The edge is too sharp not to risk jumping off.

"Itu adalah rahasia," the sound is the push, and the fall is short and sweet like the mouth against his. _More, _because it's never going to be enough. _I want your all and nothing, the space between you breaths and the quiet of your mind._

The apartment is as calm as the night outside, but no sound filters through the rush of blood and need. When Magnus pulls away, Alec follows on instinct, head dipping to the mouth eluding him. A finger comes to rest against his lips, barely a restraint; Alec is more than tempted to ignore it.

The disruption is Magnus' cellphone. "Oh, for Merlin's sake," Magnus pulls out the offensive device, squirming against Alec's weight on top of him. "I think the universe has developed a hobby out of cockblocking us."

"Are you actually going to answer that?" Alec demands, voice sharper than he had intended. Magnus looks him in the eye, his face grim.

"Believe me when I say that I prefer lip-locking to chit-chatting," Magnus tells him, already sliding the phone to his ear. "But I've sent fire messages to about a dozen warlocks and witches in the area about our curse; some of them prefer the phone to the traditional way." Alec sighs and drops his head on Magnus' chest, ear above his heart. _Since when do the magic folk prefer phones to fire messages? _he thinks, but doesn't argue.

"Bane," Magnus says into the phone, voice a little breathy but going for formal and detached. Alec smirks. "Seriously- _Clary?_" Magnus' voice grows shrill. Alec moans with despair. "No, no, no, listen to me-" Alec sighs. With the powers of the universe united against him, they'd have to dash out and save Clary from whatever predicament she's gotten herself into. "-You are deleting me from your speed dial. I was in the middle of something extremely important-" Alec groans mournfully. "What do you mean you know how to wake your mother?" Alec doesn't bother with raising his head. Magnus takes a deep breath beneath him. His hand comes to stroke Alec's hair. It's a small comfort in the face of his romantic evening plans being shoved out the window. "Fell? How do you know- Yes, I do, but- would you- no, Clary you _can't_-" Alec snorts. As if she'd listen to that. Magnus exhales sharply; it's not quite a huff, but there's a note of building anger on his face. There is a long pause. "I _can't_, not in the next two weeks-" Magnus' hand tightens in Alec's hair. He listens for a moment before snapping, "No, Clarissa dearest, contrary to your belief my life does not revolve around you and your little problems. Find someone else to conjure you a portal, there are plenty of us crafty warlocks lazing around, waiting for you call." Magnus hangs up without farther ado and throws his phone against the nearest wall.

"Won't you need that in case all those crafty warlocks call?" Alec asks, cocking an eyebrow.

Magnus smiles, "I'll repair it later," he says, waving his fingers, blue sparks and all, in front of Alec's face. "I have far more pressing matters right now."

Alec meets Magnus' lips before he's the chance to utter another word.

* * *

**A/N:** we're about halfway through the fic and already at the end of CoA. The last chapters will enter the plot of the third book as well, but bear in mind the story will veer a bit farther into the AU realm plot-wise than it has so far. Hope you won't mind :)

Excerpt from the next chapter: _"No, it's _my_ problem," Magnus snarls before hanging up. He stares at Alec and his jaw tightens. "It's gonna be alright," he says. Alec wonders if he even believes himself. _


	9. 08: Nature

**08: Nature**

Alec spends the first couple of days after the battlelazing about the house while Magnus leafs through every dusty tome in his extensive, privet library. Alec's hope withers with each discarded book; Magnus just grows gradually more frustrated and his furniture suffers. The books end up piled on the floor like a trail from one room to another, some thrown under the couch, about half forgotten on the kitchen counter under coffee mugs and empty plates. "I'll find something," Magnus keeps telling him, eyes slowly growing tired. Alec just hopes Magnus won't pass out before he can.

No warlock or witch connects them for four long, dreadful days- during which Alec wakes and falls asleep on most available surfaces, following Magnus' crusade around the flat, lulled by the sound of paper and hushed breathing. He never asks, "Did you find something?" or "Do you think you will?"; he asks, "What would you like for dinner?" and offers coffee in regular intervals.

The first call arrives well into the night between the fourth and fifth day. Alec's already deep asleep on Magnus' lap. Magnus wakes him up with the phone still glued to his ear. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he murmurs, shaking Alec gently but getting up as soon as he cracks his eyes open. Alec's head drops to the sofa cushions with a soft _oof_.

With a flick of his wrist, Magnus has his coat on and Alec's leather jacket in his arms. "We're going to visit Sarah Palin's back yard." Into the phone he says, "We'll be there in five."

He hauls Alec up before he's even managed to croak, "Who's Sarah Palin? She a witch?"

Magnus laughs and hands him the jacket. "Put this on, it's cold where the evil witchdocor lives." He turns around and disappears into the bedroom. Alec puts on the jacket. Magnus comes back with chalk and a bowl of something that smells like spiced oil. He spills the oil right before the front door, the line somewhat uneven and rather wide. He draws a series of symbols on the door, curled around each other like starved snakes. With a snap of his fingers, the oil is set ablaze. The fire shines green and blue but throws no heat. It dies a moment later. Magnus steps back and takes Alec's hand in his, tugging him along and through the door into another room entirely.

Panels of wood decorate the walls, a simple, trodden red rug covering half the floor. The furniture is scarce and old, dark wood and bright cloth. All of the windows are wide open, some of the snow falling outside filtering in with the wind.

"We're not in the stairwell," Alec observes dryly, suddenly glad for the jacket.

"He's a sharp one," a voice says to his right. When he turns to look he sees a girl, maybe a few years older than he, a colorful shawl around her shoulders. She's even shorter than Clary, her hair black and short, skin dark. Her face is an interesting patchwork of sharp lines and wide planes, in many ways more beautiful than any of the girls Alec has ever seen. The scales on her palms and the sharp talons at the tips of her fingers almost escape his notice. The almost tangible aura of magic, however, is prominent enough even for him to notice.

"You never had the patience to deal with the slower ones, is that a new fetish?" the girl eyes Alec like a scientist checking a favorite rat's reaction to a new concoction of chemicals- expectant but not terribly invested.

Alec scowls at her. Magnus gives her a mild glare, drawling, "Stop it, Chumana." Magnus' tone holds ostensible dislike. The feeling appears to be mutual on all three fronts.

The girl's lips twist. "_He_ is your Shadowhunter?"

"He's my boyfriend, yes."

Alec's heart skips a beat.

"And you say that without being prompted," she turns her eyes to Alec. "You should be honored, Nephilim. It's a first."

Magnus' hold on Alec's hand tightens. "Let's get down to business." His tone bears no argument. Chumana smiles. Her face remains as cold as if she hasn't moved a muscle. She turns her back on them without a word, heading for a door down the hall. They follow her into a room full of mirrors. There are symbols on the floor, the same ones Magnus used on the door. There's a large circle in the middle of the room, a pentagram in its center, inscribed with the symbols and made entirely of salt. "Don't just stand there, Nephilim-" Chumana snaps her fingers, her magic like red smoke curling about her wrist and claws, so different from Magnus' and much darker. A small ceramic bowl appears in her hands. "-Off to the center you go. I'm going to extract the fey residue from you."

Alec lets go of Magnus reluctantly and heads to the pentagram. Chumana follows. She grabs his arm and makes a swift cut near his veins with the talon of her index finger, drawing blood into the bowl. Alec lets out a hiss. "The hell?"

"You want your marks back, don't you?" she doesn't look at him at all. She lets him move away only when the bowl is half full. Alec jerks his arm away. Magnus snaps his fingers. The torn flesh heals.

"You're far too sentimental," Chumana throws over her shoulder at Magnus as she heads to the nearest wall. "No wonder you need me."

"It's called concern," Magnus snaps.

She rolls her eyes. Alec feels a bit queasy when she dips her fingers in his blood to draw the symbols around the room in red. When she's done with the mirrors, she paints her face- bold strokes across her cheeks, a spot of color on each eyelid, a line on her lips. She moves closer but doesn't enter the pentagram.

Chumana's voice is low when she starts chanting spells. The air cools quickly. The blood marks on the mirrors glow. The lines on the floor erupt in flames as high as Alec's knees. The hiss of the fire swallows the words of the spell, but Alec can feel the magic building around him, smothering and oppressive. It sinks into his skin, gathering in his bones and searing the nerves. Alec falls to the floor and doesn't feel it when his knees connect or when his head hits.

He writhes- control lost- his whole body like a phantom limb seizing. The spell rips him apart from within, pulling viciously on his core, trying to extract something Alec didn't even know he had but must be the foreign presence of the curse. He can't see or think past the pain tearing him limb from limb, staining his mind black.

It's cold. He can't breathe.

Alec doubles over when a sharp pain- like a knife to his gut- penetrates the darkness of his mind. It pulls insistently until Alec's sure there'd be nothing left of him by the end of it all but a broken, empty shell.

Then- there's a sound like an explosion, like something breaking, and the pain stops as abruptly as it came.

Slowly, the darkness recedes, sound filters in. The insistent pulls are gone. "Alec-" he opens his eyes. "_Alec_-" The mirror above his head is fractured- thin, silver cobwebs all across its surface. Alec stares at himself for a long while, sprawled on the floor with Magnus shouting in his ear. "Alec!" there's blood where he hit his head. He turns slowly to look at Magnus' panicked eyes.

"I'm fine."

"You always say that. You also always happen to be bleeding profusely at the same time, so forgive me if I don't take your word for it." Magnus' fingers connect with Alec's forehead, the tips of his fingers glowing- the same he did with Izzy. Magnus' magic is as warm as his touch- it's light and comforting and clearly affectionate. Alec's skull stings as the flesh knits itself back.

"How sweet," Chumana's voice holds a note of cruel amusement. Magnus whirls around, hand still on Alec's face. "I'm sure The Order would love this."

Alec briefly wonders _what Order_ before his head explodes with a headache.

"The Order can bite me," Magnus snaps at her. She seems mildly surprised, though not affronted.

"What about your coterie?"

Alec's head pounds. Through the haze he hears Magnus hissing, "It's none of their business."

"Dully noted," Chumana's gaze slides to Alec, still lying on the floor, the blood around him drying. "Looks like you won't be a Shadowhunter much longer," she says, her voice far away. "The mirrors broke. Whoever did this to you- they're not letting you off the hook anytime soon." There's a hesitant pause before she adds, "Good luck, Magnus. You'll need it."

Chumana's blessing doesn't do them much good. Magnus spends the rest of the week splitting his time between frantically hovering over Alec and burying himself in potions, molly books and lengthy scrolls. He leaves the house several times a day to fish for more books, advice or potions. Alec leaves the house once- when Magnus is somewhere in France- to meet up with Luke.

"Can't say I wasn't surprised to get your call," Luke tells him as soon as he sees him.

"I had no one else to turn to," Alec tells him honestly.

Luke nods with a slight, rueful smile- as if he'd hoped for something else. Alec hands him a small cloth bundle.

"It's silver," Alec says in warning.

"I know." Luke pockets the wrapped threat. "I had one of those once."

Alec smiles.

Luke eyes him carefully, not with judgment but with pure, unadulterated concern. "Are you sure about this?"

Alec shrugs. "I have nothing else."

Luke shakes his head. Alec is surprised to realize that even with this small gesture he can see the wolf in him. "I mean, are you sure you have to sell it? That you have to buy-"

"Yes." Alec shifts his weigh cautiously. He doesn't want to appear defensive, but his stance shifts automatically for better footing. "I can't stay there forever."

"I don't think he will mind," Luke says, gently enough.

"He might not," Alec agrees. "But it's not fair to impose myself on him because _I _messed up."

Luke clasps his shoulder with his right hand, his grip tight, probably without meaning to. His eyes shine with something unfamiliar but nonetheless pleasant and warm. Alec thinks he might've seen the look on his father's face, a long time ago. "It's very mature of you," Luke says, his tone somehow not condescending. "It's good to see someone your age taking responsibility for his actions."

Alec shrugs Luke's hand away. "Call me when you get something," he tells him before taking off.

Alec gets in twenty minutes before Magnus returns. He doesn't notice Alec's in the living room at first, so he keeps growling into the phone. "I'll _pay you_-" he says. "What do you want then? What do I have to do to-" Magnus makes a clean, three hundred and sixty degrees spin on his seven inches high boots before violently breaking the oil line on the floor, effectively shutting the portal to France. "You know as well as I do that I can't ask another Djin- No, I _can't_-" Magnus practically growls. "Your folk is so tightly knit together no one would-" he slams his fist on the wall and turns around to see Alec, hidden between the sofa cushions. "No, it's _my_ problem," Magnus snarls before hanging up. He stares at Alec and his jaw tightens. "It's gonna be alright," he says. Alec wonders if he even believes himself.

x

Jace and Iz come to drag him away for a 'second opinion' on Friday night. Magnus doesn't say a word, but his expression tightens. Alec reminds them what color his face acquired the last time Jace asked for a second opinion- "Blue," he tells them, "Blue!". Jace ignores him gracefully and shoves him out the door.

It's a faerie they go to this time, her skin dark green and her eyes grey. She takes one look at Alec and slams the door in their face with a shout of "I will not betray my Queen!".

The same evening Izzy comes over with five potions in her purse. Magnus puts on a smile and thanks her profusely, assuring her she's tremendously helpful. As soon as she's out the door he swoops them off the counter and dumps them in the garbage bin below the sink.

x

A fire message comes early Saturday morning. Magnus' shoulders lose some of their tension. They head to Washington a few hours later. Their stop is what Alec thinks is a junkyard. It turns out to be a small mansion hidden beneath some heavy glamour Alec can no longer see past. The witch standing at the door is older, her head like a garden- vines, flowers and delicate branches sprouting from her scalp instead of hair. She has the face and the wardrobe of a forgotten century and an air of faded beauty around her like a cloak. "Magnus Bane and escort," she greets, warmly enough, "it has been a while since I last saw you."

"My _name _is Alexander."

The witch turns to look at him with a perfectly polite smile. It's a rehearsed courtesy Alec is familiar with from the occasional visit to Idris and the expression his mother wears around his father. "I haven't denied that," she says softly, "your name doesn't change your role."

She seems to dislike him as much as Chumana did.

Magnus' hand grips Alec's shoulder in warning before he can lash out. "Willa, this is Alexander Lightwood. We would like your help."

"You need my help," Willa corrects, "or rather, _he _does." Her eyes do not shift to look at Alec again. "Come in," she says, and they follow her inside. The doors almost close in Alec's face; Magnus grabs him by the waist and pulls him in before they can.

The interior of the house is rich in texture- satin and velvet especially prominent. The general color scheme seems to lean towards the dull and unobtrusive. Magnus takes one look around the lounge and pulls a face. Alec laughs at him. His voice echoes. They walk past several showcases of full-body plate armor, stuffed heads of Hydras and Griffons and gemstones the size of a grown man's head before they reach their destination. It appears to be a study lined with packed shelves, cauldrons strewn across the floor. All the windows are shut.

Willa snaps her fingers twice. From all across the room, ingredients shift, jars open, flasks uncork. "Since when do you consort with Shadowhunters?" she asks Magnus, her back still turned.

"Since genetics conjured that particular shade of blue," Magnus tells her, warm by Alec's side. Willa laughs and turns around to face them. "What's your blood type, Alexander?" she asks Alec instead of responding. She says his name like the Inquisitor did Magnus'.

"O."

Some kind of root leaves its shelf and heads to the largest cauldron, perched above a burner in the center of the room.

"Favorite color?"

"Black."

A Handful of dried leaves are added to the forming mixture.

"First demon you killed?"

"Onmoraki. On Valentine's boat."

"A late bloomer, aren't you?" the witch flicks her wrist and a veil pours its contents into the brew. "Most Nephilim children kill far, far sooner."

Alec grits his teeth. Willa ignores him. "Last time you've had sex?" she asks next.

Alec sputters, blood rushing to his cheeks. Willa's eyebrows shoot to her eyebrows and she murmurs, "A late bloomer on all fronts, then." She gives Magnus a pitying glance. "He's a bit vanilla for you, darling," she says, snaps her fingers and sends a bunch of dried, white flowers into the cauldron. "Not your usual type."

Alec's insides clench. It's the second time someone's said that. The second time a _Downworlder_ has said that. Alec can't help but wonder if Magnus sometimes thinks the same- if he ever regrets it.

"I think I know more about who is my type and who's not." Magnus' voice is strong, unwavering. There's no doubt or hesitation in his eyes.

Willa's lips stretch; Alec presumes it to be a smile. "Perhaps," she says. "But you never had much luck with the Angel's Children."

Magnus holds back a snort. Alec wonders exactly what she means.

"Does The Order know about any of it?"

That again. The mysterious, phantom order Magnus has never mentioned and the existence of which remained but a vague, arbitrary concept up until now. The mysterious, phantom organization standing in their way.

Magnus' eyes narrow with all the anger Alec knows he should feel. "The Order, the gilds, the coterie, _you_- none of you has a hand in my personal affairs," he says firmly. Willa's eyebrows rise slightly. Magnus remains silent, his eyes growing distant and brittle. She nods, curtly, and turns to Alec with a cold, "Alexander," before he can ask for a clarification. Her eyes remain intent on Magnus' sour expression as she speaks. "What's your biggest fear?"

"Spiders," Alec replies automatically. The witch seems disappointed with his level of intelligence but not surprised- as if he has fulfilled her expectations perfectly. As if she never expected more. She probably didn't.

"What's your biggest fear?" Willa repeats, hand poised to perform a quick summoning spell. There's a note of exasperation in her otherwise mellow voice.

Alec doesn't answer right away. Maybe he has too many fears- equally large and terrifying. He fears death and rejection, he's scared of coming short and failing, of coming out to his parents, of letting Iz and Jace down, of ruining what he has with Magnus. He's petrified by the thought he might lose his marks or lose his family. He's afraid of anyone finding out about him, about _them_. He's afraid hiding would pull them apart. He's afraid he's not enough- for Magnus, for the Clave, for his father- and never will be.

"Screwing up," he says finally. "I'm afraid of screwing up."

Willa cocks an eyebrow but summons another herb from a basket by the door and sends it into the cauldron without a word. With a snap of her fingers, fire flares up beneath the mixture and a wooden spoon flies from a shelf to the right to stir it. She turns away from Alec, dismissing him with a wave of her hand to keep adding in ingredients Alec can't phantom the origin or name of; colorful smoke rises from the cauldron to meet the ceiling with each one.

"I always did think her brewing looked like Ursula's," Magnus says with a smile. The potion explodes with another puff of smoke. It tints Magnus' skin green. "Though she won't ask for your voice as payment."

"Why would she?"

Magnus blinks at him, dismayed astonishment all over his face. "The Little Mermaid doesn't ring a bell?" he asks, but Alec only shakes his head, mildly confused. Magnus seems alarmed. "You've never seen the movie?"

Alec shakes his head again. Magnus gives him a pitying glance, his face pained. "You Shadowhunters have deprived childhoods. Have you ever even heard of Disney?"

There's another loud explosion from the cauldron. Magnus' face darkens at Alec's silence. "We'll have to change that," he says. Alec wonders if he should be afraid.

The room starts shaking beneath their feet as the brewing comes to a close. Thick, smothering smoke turns it bright, neon red. Willa waves her hand and the whole room clears instantly without a sound. "It's ready," she declares, summons a mug and pours in some of the brew. She hands Alec the potion as if it were an exam sheet- measuring him with her eyes. "Drink."

Alec does. It tastes like chicken soup with too much pepper and a generous dose of spoilt milk mixed in. He nearly spits it but Willa tips the mug up so the liquid pours straight to his throat and he has to swallow.

At first, Alec doesn't feel anything, only the need to brush clean his tongue. Then- slowly- heat gathers in his stomach, gradually climbing up and spreading to his limbs. It swallows him whole from head to toe. It doesn't burn, just numbs his nerves, paralyzing his muscles. Everything around him tips and grows out of proportion, shelves towering over him, Magnus and Willa stretching out to be giants. He is trapped in the folds of something that smells strongly of detergent.

"I believe I got him with shorter ears," Magnus says, staring at Alec, voice slightly shrill. It's only then that Alec realizes something must be terribly wrong.

"He lied," Willa murmurs, crouching down before Alec. Her eyes are huge and pale, clouded. "Did you two sleep together after all? You know it wouldn't have deterred me, even though he's a hunter." She seems pleased with her own offer of tolerance. Alec wonders if it's the best offer he's going to get. He opens his mouth to reply, to say something scathing. Nothing comes out but a soft clicking noise. Willa frowns. Magnus does too. His hands come to grip Alec. In a moment of sheer terror Alec is suddenly aware that they're as big as his whole body. He is forcefully lifted, pulled up for what feels like eternity and a hundred thousand miles. He ends up curdled securely against Magnus' chest.

Alec can feel Magnus' voice reverberating against his own back when Magnus asks, "What's gone wrong?"

"If he lied-"

"He didn't." Magnus' conviction makes Willa look up in surprise.

"Then you know what it means. My potions deal with the physical. The curse must be on another plane."

"Chumana's mirrors didn't work either."

Willa nods. "Then you know what's wrong."

"When will it wear off?" Alec can tell Magnus is not talking about the curse.

"A day or two at most," is Willa's answer. She inspects Magnus' face before adding, "You are calmer than I thought you'd be, considering."

Alec shivers when something strokes his back, following the line of his spine in one long, languid motion. With a terrified glance up, Alec sees Magnus' face looming above his own, a devilish grin plastered across his lips. "I do find him extremely adorable like that," he says, eyes twinkling. His fingers come to stroke Alec's back again. Alec leans into the touch instinctively. He tries to say something the sounds of which his mouth seems unable to produce. "I suppose a simple _deatuse_ won't work."

"Probably not, I won't recommend trying it out either."

Magnus nods. "So you can't unrabbit him."

Willa shakes her head with a slight, rueful smile. Alec's brain grinds to a screeching, sudden halt. _I believe I got him with shorter ears_, Magnus said.

He's been turned into a rabbit.

He's a fucking _rabbit_.

Alec bites Magnus' arm in frustration, and surprisingly enough- his teeth are sufficiently sharp to tear the flesh. Magnus gives him an unimpressed, though apologetic, look. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, stroking Alec's back again. Alec lets go of his arm reluctantly but tries to convey Magnus' imminent death with his eyes. Magnus seems unable to read the expression on his face. He turns to Willa and says, "I guess we're done here, then." He heads to the door, Alec still in his arms. "Thanks for trying."

"Magnus," she calls before he exits the room. Magnus turns his head. "You do know there's a simpler way. If it's not physical, then-"

"I don't think he's ready for it." Alec lifts his head, almost missing the forlorn expression making a brief appearance on Magnus' face.

"Are you?" Magnus doesn't answer her. The tight line of his mouth, with just a hint of a downward curl, tells Alec that it's a definite 'no'.

"It can't be the only way," but Magnus' voice implies he believes it might be. Willa's calm exterior cracks.

"If it is, would you?"

Magnus' hands tighten around Alec's form. "I think that at this point, there's nothing I wouldn't do."

Willa nods resultantly, eyes wide and frightened. They leave before she has the chance to say anything else.

Magnus doesn't teleport them back to New York this time. He takes a flight and spends an hour petting Alec's fur under the disguise of glamour.

x

The apartment is quiet and cold when they enter. Magnus flicks on the lights and puts Alec down on a stool in the kitchen while he fiddles with the intricate coffee machine. He seems too distressed for magic. "The thing is," he says to Alec, "we have five days." Alec cringes at the reminder. Magnus pours water into his cup before he continues. "Five days before it all goes to shit and _fuck_, Alec, I think we just might have to."

Alec has no idea what the hell Magnus' blubbering about. His long, goddamn _rabbit _ears twitch in annoyance. Magnus sighs. "You'll hate me forever for it," he says, voice small. Alec truly doubts it; he doesn't think there's a universe in which Alexander Gideon Lightwood- rabbit, human or Shadowhunter - hates Magnus Bane. "And it might not work anyway. They might still kick you out." Magnus' golden eyes hold something much deeper than ordinary sadness, tinted dark with pure, wild fear. He sits down besides Alec and puts his face in his hands, the coffee forgotten on the counter behind him. "I ran out of books to read and I don't-"

Alec hops on to Magnus' lap, clawed little feet kneading in Magnus' expensive designer jeans. Magnus lifts his head to look at him. Alec stares back squarely because he can't really say anything, comforting or otherwise.

Magnus' hand comes to rest on Alec's back, thumb stroking the soft fur on his side. _Fur_, Alec thinks, a grimace on his face. His whiskers twitch in frustration. God, he has _whiskers_.

"I'm sorry for this," Magnus tells him for the second time that day, for the umpteenth time since they've met. "You make an adorable rabbit, though." Alec bares his sharp tusks in warning. Magnus smiles. "You still have blue eyes. Never seen a rabbit with those." Alec's ears droop. Magnus laughs softly but keeps on petting Alec's sides. He finally summons the coffee from the counter and gulps it down too quickly, probably searing his tongue. "A rabbit fits you, actually," Magnus says, distracted, looking for something on the table. "I've been told my form's a cat." He finds a stray piece of paper, scribbles something on it and burns it. A fire message.

Alec wonders why not use the phone.

Magnus takes Alec to his bedroom as soon as he's done with his awful coffee. He sets Alec on the bed with extra care. The sheets are cool and the bed is enormous, clearly meant for more than a single person.

"I would take you to your own room but I think Chairman Meow might eat you," Magnus tells him while taking his shirt off. Alec turns his head until Magnus is done with changing out of his clothes, trying hard not to look. "He has bad history with rodents."

_I'm not a rodent_, Alec tries to say. Talking doesn't work for him.

Magnus climbs on the bed beside him and pats the second pillow by his side. Alec isn't sure if this- sleeping with Magnus as a rabbit- actually qualifies as _sleeping with Magnus_. He hesitates for a moment too long. Magnus sighs but doesn't make a move to lift Alec or grab him. He just snaps his fingers and the lights go off.

"Good night, Alexander," Magnus says and pulls the blanket to his chin. He turns on his side, his back facing Alec.

They don't get to sleep through the whole night. A fire message arrives at the crack of dawn, appearing right above Magnus' head. Magnus opens his eyes and growls, "Someone's gonna _die_," into the empty night air. Alec laughs; the sound comes out like a rasping cough.

The burnt paper of the fire message glows ominously in the dark, the foreign symbols inscribed onto the parchment red as blood. Whatever it is Magnus is able to read from it, it makes him bolt upright instantly. He practically falls off the mattress in his haste, flailing his arms and summoning clothes from his closet before he even properly detangled himself from sheets. Alec does _not_ to stare at the exposed skin quickly getting covered by layers of clothes. At all. "Thank Merlin," Magnus murmurs over and over again, so fast it takes Alec a moment to distinguish the words.

The message remains stranded in the air even as Magnus grabs Alec by the scarf of his neck and walks purposefully out the bedroom door and into the kitchen to grab a knife. He makes a swift cut below his elbow, draws some symbols- not unlike the ones of the fire message- on his skin with the blood and murmurs a series of spells. The magic builds and whisks them both away.

Magnus' kitchen fades to black. The world tilts and moves like the scenery behind a train's window- too fast, just bouts of color in the dark, bursts of disconnected sounds and a temperature shift. Everything twists and spins around them like a bad trip desaturated. When the scenery stilts and the process of transportation halts- colors chase the dark away and reality snaps back into place like a rubber band. Everything is hyper-sharp and loud, too vivid and much warmer than it had been in New York when they left it.

Their stop is on the driveway of a small cottage; an ordinary, mundane house. Magnus walks to the door and knocks on it thrice. It opens almost immediately to reveal a man much taller and broader, his face wide and rough, sharp canines in a sharper smile. He has a wild, mud-brown mane and dull, murky eyes. His voice is thick like a growl when he says, "Magnus, me man, I missed yer pretty face."

The man lets them in. Alec wonders just who he is to Magnus.

"It's been a while," Magnus says wistfully as he enters the living room.

"Donkey's years," the man agrees, his voice warm, affectionate. Alec tries hard not to feel threatened.

"You haven't changed at all," Magnus eyes him quickly, not entirely impersonally.

The man laughs throatily. "Y'haven't either. Though t'clothes are tighter than I remember. Yer a right Mickey dazzler w'all the glitter."

Magnus grins. "The 21st century has its perks."

The man snorts. "Ya were a slut even in Victorian England. It 'as nothin' to do with the time."

Magnus' smile widens, just a hint of teeth visible. "Takes one to know one, Phelon dearest."

Alec frowns at the exchanged words. Phelon huffs a chuckle. He gestures towards Alec, still tightly held in Magnus' arms. "That yer pet?"

"My boyfriend."

Alec's heart skips a beat like it did the last time Magnus has applied the term. He can't help but feel a bubbling sort of excitement every time he hears it and he's not entirely sure he wants the feeling to stop.

"Away with ye." Magnus doesn't react to the jibe. Phelon hikes an eyebrow, his mouth uncertain. "Yer a sick man, Bane, completely warped."

Magnus shakes his head with a soft laugh, slipping onto a plush sofa. "He was human before Willa happened."

"I wouldn't 'ave been surprised if 'e weren't."

Magnus gives him a mild glare. Phelon grins. "So now yer 'ere askin' me to turn yer bunny back?"

Magnus shakes his head. His eyes harden. "You know why I'm here. I'll assume that's why you sent the message."

Phelon sobers quickly, catching Magnus' mood. He lets go of the rabbit jokes. "I'll help, don't think I won't- but 'ave ya thought of askin' Alistair? 'e knows more 'bout that shite than I do. Been through it an' all. I just did t'research."

"Alistair is a douche and I hate his face," Magnus states calmly. He lets go of Alec. Alec doesn't move from his lap.

"'e does have one ugly mug," Phelon agrees, settling on a couch opposite Magnus. "Might be helpful, though."

"Didn't you hear when I said he is a _douche_?"

Phelon quirks an eyebrow. Magnus scowls in response. "I am not talking about it. I came to see _you_. Make it worth my while."

Phelon laughs. " 'nd y'say that in front of yer beau?"

Magnus' scowl deepens. His hand strokes Alec's back absentmindedly, digging into his sides. "If I had any interest in your tender regions I'd have had you bent over a desk centuries ago."

Alec lets out a sharp hiss and twists around to bite Magnus' fingers. Magnus pulls away with a light groan of pain. "I was actually saying I wasn't _going to_, you know?" he says, seemingly offended. Alec lets out a huff.

"Ya had it coming, yeah?" Phelon says between barks of laughter.

"Shut it, Mud."

Phelon pulls a face at the name. "Careful, Sparks, yer t'one who needs 'elp."

"You're the one who offered."

"True," Phelon's eyes slide to Alec. "You sure he'd agree?"

"He'll agree to anything to keep his marks."

"And yer gonna let 'im?"

"I have a feeling that'll be the only choice we'll have left."

"No potion?"

Magnu shakes his head.

"'nd no spell."

"Nothing I could find that didn't backfire," Magnus' tone holds a note of regret. "Even Chumana's mirrors failed. Willa confirmed it's not physical, so it's the essence. Maybe if I had the Book of White-" his voice trails off and his face hardens, mouth a tight, grim line.

"No one's seen it fer years," Phelon completes the sentence for him. "Yeah, right-o, I get it. D'you want to, though? He's a-"

"Shadowhunter," Magnus cuts him off, voice and face a hard, cold mask. "Everyone seems terribly hung up on that."

"Y'want to tie yourself to a Shadowhunter- 's no wonder."

"He's a _person_ who happens to be a Shadowhunter, whom I also happen to genuinely _like_. Killing demons is just part of the sex appeal," Magnus grumbles, visibly not too keen on explaining. He leans against the back of the sofa but doesn't relax; his shoulders remain tense, the line of his spine rigid. His grip on Alec is almost painful- a feeble shield against words that are aimed to hurt more than just himself.

Phelon's eyes remain neutral, his voice level when he says, "Ya need more than just mild affection in order fer it t'work."

"Who said anything about mild?" a smile claims Magnus' lips. It's mellow, somewhat subdued and thoroughly broken. His eyes shine with all that's beautiful in the world.

Alec forgets how to breathe.

"Yer Coterie won't like it."

And perhaps he might never be able to again.

"I don't give a fuck," Magnus snarls back, eyes bright and wide- daring. It's the same look he had about him on Valentine's ship, the same expression he gets whenever Alec's injured- a sort of fierce protectiveness, like the barrier his hands provide. Alec leans into him and his confidence, hiding behind the wall that is Magnus' faith and Magnus' strength, surrounded by everything he wants to believe is possible.

"Corpus et mens et cor junge ut anima ligetur," Phelon recites. He eyes Magnus with a certain amount of awe and fear, disbelief etched in every line of his body. Alec does and doesn't get the meaning of the words spoken. The literal, dictionary definition is crystal clear. He has no idea what's the implication is, though- what it might or might not mean regarding him or them. "I can't believe yer actually thinkin' of tying th'knot."

Magnus lets his head roll back, facing the ceiling to avoid Phelon's protruding gaze. "I think that maybe- maybe that's what she wanted it to come to all along."

"Eirlys?"

Magnus nods.

"It's not 'bout 'er though, is it?" Phelon's eyes turn to Alec, confusion and doubt in his gaze. "It's about 'im."

"And me."

Phelon shakes his head. "No, it's about _'im_," his eyes remain on Alec as he continues, "you'd've never considered it before."

Magnus sighs. "I wouldn't have," he admits softly. "But I am now. And I want you to tell me everything you know."

Phelon nods, "O'right."

* * *

**A/N:** any guesses what Magnus has in mind?

Also, next chapter includes major cannon bending related to an issue Clare introduced in later books. It's not half as dirty as it sounds.

We're close to the end, guys!

Excerpt from next chapter: _The last memory is at the very back of Magnus' mind, but it's brighter and warmer than the rest. In it, Alec sees himself- blood smeared on pale skin, gear on, fire and demons and death behind a head of black hair and eyes as blue as the sky. There's anger and crushing relief and an echo of what Alec can feel in his own heart._


	10. 09: Stakes

_Warning: cannon bending (in a fun way)._**  
**

**09: Stakes**

The next morning, Magnus wakes up wrapped around Alec's human form. The embrace is painfully tight but the comfort it offers is immense and addicting; it takes Magnus over a minute to realize he's woken up wrapped around Alec's _very naked_ human form. He wonders what might be more hazardous to his health- moving away, risking that Alec would wake up and maim him or staying put, _waiting_ until Alec would wake up and maim him. Reaching out hesitantly, Magnus strokes Alec's hair, pushing stray strands away from his face. "We'll get to the point maiming won't be necessary, won't we?" he murmurs. Alec doesn't steer. Magnus slips away from him with a heavy sigh. The room is awfully cold without Alec's body next to his. "It might be sooner than you'd have allowed otherwise," Magnus says. He pulls the blanket higher around Alec's shoulders before heading to the shower.

He's out of the house forty minutes later with no coat and a heavy heart. The long walk to Fort Greene warms him not at all. The park looks as bleak as he feels when he finally gets there- trees naked, the snow patchy brown, not a dog or jogger in sight.

He heads to the monument without sparing his surroundings a second glance. It's a crude, erupt piece of stone, too small to be impressive and too dull to be remarkable. It stands gray and solemn against a dreary sky, its shadow cast all across the steps leading up to it. Magnus takes the steps three at a time, his heels softly clacking on the marble. He doesn't bother with the door when he finally gets to the vast, flat platform. There's not a mundane in sight anyway. Magnus walks straight on, through the center of the stone monument, through and out to the same snow covered lawns and bare tress; all bare but one that hadn't been, massive and round, leaves green like emeralds. Beneath it is a figure, small and winged, generally familiar, like all faeries are. Magnus takes a few steps to stand before her. She smiles, but it's cold.

"Warlock Bane," she greets, voice like bell-chimes, most unpleasant. "Your visit is unexpected."

"Yet entirely predictable," Magnus replies and the faerie nods slightly, angling her head. She turns and walks away, around the tree and into the serried greenery. Magnus follows faithfully, all quiet demeanor but his heart. They walk further into a forest that does not exist in Fort Greene, deeper under green canopies darkening. Branches knit above them as they go, wood to earth until a cave is born. Through the corridors and left again and again once over to a chamber, dim.

The Queen's throne is lit by candles and fey-dust, almost afire, but not quite, not yet. The Queen smiles, angles and sharp lines meshed, aligned, once dear. Magnus stares at her with barely an echo of fondness in his heart, familiarity flattering and dying as her expression shifts.

"Magnus," her voice is velvet. "My dear, beloved warlock, it has been too long."

He shakes his head, "Not nearly enough, Lys."

Her eyes harden, solidified like diamonds and shiny things. "You came to see me," she objects- me, _for _me, _only me_.

"I came for him," and she knows, knows this, yet the room grows colder as her anger swells. "You knew I would."

"I did," she admits, "I believed you won't."

He smiles. "It's been about me all along, hasn't it? You knew."

She nods, slow, calculating. "Your power, a mark, all over him. His skin _glowed_ with it." She doesn't seem pleased, scorned even, though he came to expect it, and now he knows the price. _You should've chosen forever with me_. "He came in bearing it. He is foolish, your Shadowhunter."

"For insulting you?"

She smiles. "In more ways than one."

"If not for my mark, would you have cursed him still?"

Her eyes shine, lips pulled back against white teeth and a vicious tongue. "No."

Magnus' head dips, low to his chest, chin digging into bone. The pain isn't strong enough. "Would you lift it?"

Her lips pull further. "No."

And he knows, knows this, yet the room grows colder.

x

"We need to talk," Alec tells Magnus as soon as he returns to the loft and enters the kitchen. Magnus eyes him, slowly schooling his features to fit a mask of nonchalance; it's cracked, and Alec can see right through to the hidden panic at the very core.

"Is this the 'it's not you, it's me' talk?" Magnus asks, voice so tired, eyes bruised by sleepless nights.

Alec frowns. "What talk?"

Magnus shakes his head and settles on a stool, head in his hands. Alec checks the temperature of the oven before turning to Magnus. He leans on the kitchen counter opposite him, arms crossed.

"I want to talk about what Phelon said," Alec starts. Magnus doesn't lift his head.

"Of course you do."

"I wanted to know if it's the only way."

Magnus stiffens. "It shouldn't be."

"Is it?"

Magnus doesn't answer for a long while. Alec awaits him as he does the chicken cooking in oven. "I talked to her today," Magnus says finally, lowering his head and hiding his face in the crook of his arm. "To Eirlys. She said she wouldn't have cursed you if you weren't involved with me."

_But I am_, Alec thinks, as if that's always been the case. He is in too deep, tangled irrecoverably, no emergency exit in sight; _and I don't want to get out_. "Why does she care?" he asks, though he knows the answer before Magnus gives it to him. Knows because Magnus' knuckles turn whiter, knows because the cabinets rattle with the force of Magnus' magic, knows because it's _him_ and they've had this fight before.

"I didn't want forever with her," Magnus admits finally. Alec nods, accepting, if grudgingly, what he's already suspected. _So she's like Will and Camille and Helena and all the others I can't name. _"She's driving me to the same forked path." Alec doesn't ask if Magnus is going to make the same choice again, if he's going to choose the path he's already traveled once. If he's going to whisk Alec's only chance away. He's much too terrified of the answer to even try.

He tangles his fingers in Magnus' soft hair instead, stroking lightly. "Look at me," he says when Magnus doesn't respond to his touch. Magnus lifts his head, eyes wide, his mouth an uncertain line in a shadowed face. "I don't blame you," Alec tells him, _not for what she did. Not for what you did or might choose._ "I don't and I won't and you shouldn't either."

Magnus looks away. "You don't get it."

"Then tell me." Alec tries to catch Magnus' eye but fails miserably. "Tell me what I don't get so I can tell you it's stupid and not your fault again."

_Tell me you'd choose differently this time_.

"It's my fault," Magnus snaps, suddenly looking at Alec again, eyes blazing with conviction. Alec levels his stare and lets go of his hair. "You heard what our options are. The lack of them."

"We have an option, Magnus, _we have_-" Alec argues.

Magnus narrows his eyes. "You don't know anything about-"

"Tethering?" Alec prompts, suddenly angry. Magnus swallows hard, eyes sliding away hastily, focusing on the floor. "If that's what-"

"It's not what it was supposed to come down to!" Magnus' usual calm exterior shatters as his voice escalates. His shoulders shake. The kitchen appliances rattle around them as Magnus' control on his magic slips.

With sudden clarity, Alec realizes that Magnus doesn't want to make the choice. That it's why he's fighting this so hard. Maybe if Alec decides he doesn't want to, Magnus won't have to admit he doesn't, either.

He won't have to say anything as long as Alec does it for him. As long as Alec's the one who calls the shots, he won't have to take responsibility.

If Alec had half a mind to make it easier before, he doesn't anymore. "It hardly matters," he snarls.

"It matters," Magnus says flatly. "It's forever."

And that's what it's all about in principle.

It hurts.

It hurts so much Alec wonders for a brief, wild moment if Magnus stabbed him right through the heart with a stray kitchen knife. Drawing breath turns to be an extremely difficult task. His lungs refuse to function properly. "You don't have to sound so appalled by the idea," Alec manages to croak, sliding to the floor by the refrigerator- away from Magnus. He doesn't look at Magnus as he awaits an answer, should one come.

_He doesn't want forever with me, either._

"I-" Magnus' voice breaks. "It's not that I- Alec, look at me," but Alec doesn't. He can't. "Alec, please," Magnus' voice takes on a gentler note, as if the presentation would change the content. The silence stretches.

_He doesn't want it._

"I think I do," Magnus says suddenly, as if he knew exactly what Alec was thinking. "Want forever, with you." Alec's head snaps up in surprise. He lets air out of his lungs. Magnus appears before him, out of his chair in a second. His golden eyes are intent, determined. "It's not about what I want though."

"What's it about then?"

"You."

Alec groans, exasperated. "Why are you so against this? Why are you against it when you said just now that- that you _want_-"

Magnus steps closer and falls to his knees before Alec. He grips Alec's knees, leaning closer, his voice suddenly lower and privet. "Because," he says, "I don't want you to agree to something so beautifully gilded just because you're infatuated or because I'm your first boyfriend, because you're scared of losing me and looking for someone else enough to give up your life. Because you don't know what forever is. I want you to choose what's right for you, no matter how many other options you've got."

"I have no other options."

"It shouldn't matter." Magnus' eyes darken. "Choose this because you want it, not because you were forced to as part of being associated with me."

"If I choose this, will you go through it?"

_Will my choice matter to you at all?_

Magnus nods. "I owe you that much."

"I don't want you to agree because you think it's your fault."

"I think you know it's not the only reason I would." Magnus gives him a carefully blank look; Alec tries to gauge those reasons from his eyes. What he sees makes him wonder, more than anything, if he's even capable of discerning the complex portrait of emotions he is presented with. "I was being serious when I told Willa I don't think you're ready for this."

Alec gives frowns. "Why would you-"

The air in the room shifts suddenly, heating up.

"Tell me, darling- why are you so eager to perform a ritual you know next to nothing about?" Magnus' voice is casual, but there's an edge of desperation to his tone.

"Maybe I'll be able to keep my marks if we do it, if it works. You and Phelon both said so," Alec tells him; it ought to be obvious. "I'll get to keep you too."

Magnus shakes his head. "It's not how it works, sweetheart."

"Then _how_ does it work?"

"Corpus et mens et cor junge ut anima ligetur. The ritual binds the heart, the mind and the flesh of two to make them one."

"I know Latin," Alec feels the need to clarify.

Magnus sighs. "It doesn't mean you know what it means." And he doesn't. Not in any substantial way; maybe that's why he doesn't understand Magnus' aversion to the idea, maybe that's why he doesn't understand why Magnus thinks he ought to throw Alec's only chance away. "It's nothing like your Shadowhunter wedding runes, or your Parabatai ones." The condensation regarding Nephilim customs is a lilt to Magnus' voice, forcefully subdued but too deeply ingrained to disappear completely. "It's much, _much_ stronger, sweetheart. It borders on Black Magia." And Black Magia is bad- everyone knows- it's evil and compelling, a dark temptation the Clave kills warlocks for yielding to. Alec doesn't understand how something like that might be the key to saving his life. "You know why this ritual's going to work?" Magnus asks, suddenly. "Because the curse relies on Eirlys' claim on your soul- on the Fey Mark on your essence. It morphs it. Everything else didn't work because we though the mark was on your _body._" Magnus' voice grows stronger. "After the Tethering- I'll own your soul. You'll be tied to my magic forever and Eirlys won't have claim on you; your soul would be mine- not hers, not the Clave's, not yours- _mine_." Magnus' mouth forms a taut, grim line. His fingers curl into a loose fist against his thigh, not reaching out. The dragontear on Alec's chest gives a faint pulse. "If we do this, there's no turning back. You'll follow me forever. Wherever."

Alec nods. "I'm fine with that."

Magnus' eyes widen in outraged disbelief. "You're fine with everything that gives you half a chance to keep you marks!" He throws his hands up in the air. Angry sparks shoot from his fingertips. "What are you gonna do when your precious Clave tosses you out because you're irrecoverably tied to a Downworlder?"

"I'm _doing_ this because-"

"They won't care, Alec! They won't _fucking_ care!"

Alec gets up so suddenly Magnus is forced to move away before they clash. "As if your mystery Order will," Alec snaps, his whole body shaking with suppressed fury.

"The Order won't be able to take my powers away, unlike the Clave-"

"They won't-"

"This ritual's used in Demon pacts," Magnus says with a hiss, rising up as well to loom over Alec. "When people _sign over their souls_ to have something to feed their family with or cure a loved one from cancer. It's something you do when it's either that or _death_, and you know what? they live half their natural life span and end up tied to a fucking demon for the rest of eternity-"

"You're not a demon!" Alec almost shouts, abruptly interrupting Magnus' tirade. Magnus stills, his face frozen, eyes still impossibly wide. Emotions flicker around his irises, clear as day; Surprise and doubt, something far too broken to be joy.

"You're a Shadowhunter," Magnus says, slowly. He appears to be lost- expression clouded brows furrowed.

"I'm glad you've noticed," Alec says sharply. "I'd like to remain one."

"I'm a _warlock_," Magnus ignores him.

"That should explain the spontaneous busts of magic."

Magnus stares at him. "I'm half a demon."

Alec huffs impatiently. He's too tired, his nerves too frayed, to try and understand what Magnus is getting at. "So?" he demands.

Magnus' lips pull; the grin is crooked and as exhausted as Alec feels. His eyes shine. "Saya amat mencintaimu."

Alec smiles back. "Non loqui Indonesiaca."

Then the oven goes _ding_.

x

Alec pokes the chicken still in the oven with no real interest, barely even paying attention that the fork has gone all the way through, only stopped by the bone. "Why are you fighting me on this?" he inquires tiredly, back still turned on Magnus. His voice remains calm, anger already spent. "You're the one who went asking about how to perform the ritual, I thought you were on board with the whole idea."

"I told you already-"

Alec shakes his head but doesn't turn around. "It's not why though." He turns off the oven and steps away to search for vegetables in the fridge. "All those things you've said- it's not why you look so scared. It's not why you fight this tooth and nail. It's my only chance, Magnus. Why?"

"I meant all I said," Magnus tells him, defensive, his voice on edge. "I'm not sure this is the right choice."

Alec takes out a knife and starts chopping cucumbers methodically. Magnus eyes the knife uneasily. "Why?" Alec asks.

"Because I can convince you." Magnus' tone is grave. Alec shifts his eyes to glance his way, still chopping. The only reason he doesn't lose an appendage is due to years of cooking - because Izzy can't and mom's never home- while watching Max- since no one else would. "Because I can convince you so, so easily darling. I just have to say it'll bring your marks back, or that it'll keep you young forever, that it's a romantic grand gesture."

Alec frowns. "Owning my soul isn't all that romantic."

"I didn't have to tell you I'd own your soul. I could've hit the 'bonded forever' angle."

"Why didn't you?" Alec's done with the salad. He pulls out a bowl and two plates from the cupboard. Then he gets out the chicken. He turns around to see Magnus leaning on his elbows, the muscles on his face twitching- as if he hasn't decided what expression to display yet.

"Because you'd end up hating me in ten, maybe fifteen years when your friends and family die unexpected, premature death and you realize you never will." Alec face contorts in a painfully obvious wince. Magnus stares at his hands, neatly folded on the tabletop. Alec busies himself with filling up his plate. "If you do this because I want you to, or because I'm desperate after four centuries, then you'll hate me and yourself for it. I don't want that."

Alec settles on a stool across Magnus but doesn't touch the mountain of food he now has before him. "I think that it's not about my marks at this point."

Magnus pokes the salad some. "Then what?"

"I'll lose my marks in two days whether we perform the ritual or not, if you're right about the Clave-" Alec puts up a hand, stopping Magnus before he can cut him off. "When that happens, I won't be able to protect my family anymore. I won't see them. This gives me hope, the ritual. If they find out about it sooner than later, than at least I'd have more time. Then they'll strip me and I won't see them anymore, just as I won't if we don't do this. They'll die either with me in the battle field or without me. I can't change that, but I can try to be there as long as I can, and this- this is as long as I can." He takes a breath, deep and slow- just enough to clear his head, but not enough to cleanse his heart. "There's no wining in this, the only thing I'll win is you." Alec makes sure he doesn't blink when he says, "I've thought this over."

"And you want to?" Alec can hear the slight waver in Magnus' voice, sees him muscles shift- ready for rejection.

Alec nods with a hesitant smile. "Tell me about the ritual."

Magnus' face clears slightly and his expression lightens, though not considerably. There are doubts lingering at the raw edges of his peeling mask. "The first part of the ritual requires feelings of mutual fortitude," Magnus begins tentatively, leaning back on the information as a crutch to relieve the gathered tension. "It can be love, or hate or fear. Anything intense enough to stimulate the magic involved."

They share a look. Magnus' eyes are bright with hope and something else. _It ought to be enough_, Alec thinks, _what we feel- it ought to be enough_. "That's _cor._ _Mens_ breaks the mental walls between the two subjects."

"What, like telepathy?"

Magnus laughs and the tension eases. "Frederic Myers was born long after the ritual."

"I was thinking Xavier."

A curious look spreads across Magnus' features. "Been snooping in my shelves?"

Alec shrugs. "The comics' caught my eye."

Magnus nods with a small smile. "Maybe you should learn Greek," he suggests mildly. "I have far more interesting materials than Marvel."

"I _know _Greek," Alec says. "But I read Plato and Homer before I got my third rune, and you're missing the only play by Aristophanes I haven't read."

Magnus gives him an incredulous, slightly impressed look and a toothy grin, but doesn't indulge in a comment. Alec turns back to his dinner with an indignant huff. "In a demon pact, _Mens _usually means the subject's mind is toyed with until they go insane and don't resist the _Corpus_," Magnus continues.

"What's the _Corpus_?"

"Marking." Magnus' eyes harden but avoid direct contact for a brief moment. "Permanent. Stronger than a rune. It will never fade," Alec nods. "It will never disappear."

"I know," Alec says. "Find something else to scare me with."

Magnus looks startled but his expression softens, becoming much mellower, losing the edge and hardness of his stare. "I'm not trying to scare you."

"Good," Alec takes a decisive bite of the chicken. "Because you can't."

Magnus grins. "Boo."

Magnus' gleeful expression rips a surprised laugh from Alec's mouth.

Then he chokes on the chicken.

Magnus flicks his wrist and a glass of water soundlessly appears on Alec's left. Alec downs it with a glare. There are words engraved at the bottom of the glass: 'SCARED?'.

"You are insufferable," Alec informs him when he's done with the water and his cough dies a little.

"I'm _right_," Magnus counters with a bright smile.

"No," Alec shakes his head. "You are _smug_."

"Smug suits me."

Alec rolls his eyes but doesn't argue. Magnus' smile widens to a manic grin.

They are halfway through dinner when Alec finally risks and asks, "When are we gonna do it?"

The fork still in Magnus' hand. "Soon," he says.

Alec keeps pushing. "_When?_"

It's not as if they have long.

They stare at each other over empty plates and clenched fists. Magnus doesn't budge. "Soon," he repeats. "_Soon_."

x

Alec stands staring by Magnus' shut door a few moments before gathering enough courage to open it. He enters the room quietly, looking around cautiously. It's empty.

Alec can hear faint sounds filtering from the study. There's light in the crack between the door and the floor, a bright yellow rectangle like a beacon. He opens that door as well.

The first thing he sees is the cluttered shelves, the knocked down phials and books. The second is Magnus, huddled in a corner with several tall stacks of books around him, a smoldering cauldron to his left, a thick tome in his lap. There's faint music playing, something upbeat and outdated. The man sings:_ you were born to be my baby, and baby I was made to be your man_ before Magnus flicks his wrist irritably and the melody changes to blaring guitars. Then he lifts his head and sees Alec.

"Never was a fan," Magnus tells him conversationally, nodding towards the small iPod stuck in the speakers' dock. "Especially of the hair." Alec smiles.

_I'm just a bachelor; I'm looking for a partner_ the iPod wails the lyrics of the next song. Magnus snaps his fingers sharply. The melody shifts to a soft piece of violin, accompanied by a piano.

"I want to do the Tethering," Alec declares.

"I've got that," Magnus' eyes empty gradually, his expression schooling itself. His gaze remains trained on a spot above Alec's head, avoiding the question by avoiding the stare.

"Now." Alec keeps his voice level. Magnus' eyes snap to his.

"Why."

"Because I want to."

_Because I want my marks back, because I want you, because I want us for as long as I live._

Magnus' golden eyes strip him bare, searching for some reassurance, for the slightest sign of a lingering regret. They won't find it, but the search takes long and fills the room with tense silence. "Are you sure?" Magnus asks, finally, voice clipped.

"Yes."

Magnus must have found what he was looking for all those times he's asked for assurance in Alec's expression, because the heavy tome falls to the floor with his sudden rise. He's in Alec's personal space in three steps, arms around Alec's waist and a twist to his lips to suggest he's holding back a smile. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asks again.

Alec sighs, pressing closer. He wraps his arms around Magnus' neck and says, "Don't make me repeat it again."

Magnus laughs.

x

Telepathy, as it seems, can't be achieved with _Mens_. The process itself requires a few marks along Magnus' wrists, some incense and a foul potion Alec is instructed to drink. They settle on Magnus' bed in the middle of a hexagon made of salt- Magnus sitting cross legged on the mattress, Alec lying down with his head in Magnus' lap. "Tell me if I'm prying," Magnus says before his hands cup the back of Alec's head, fingertips lightly pressed to his temples.

The dragontear gives a sharp pulse of heat against Alec's chest. Alec blinks and the room around him disappears as soon as he opens his eyes, transformed to a familiar landscape he hasn't seen since the last visit to Idris. It's the garden of their old house back home, as green and lavish as he remembers it being mid-spring. They remain in the same position- Magnus sitting, Alec lying- under the willow tree planted in the farthermost corner of the garden, hidden behind sage bushes.

Alec can feel the grass prickling his skin, yet he's eerily aware of his body resting still and heavy on a bed somewhere far, far away. The dissonance is unsettling.

"Where are we?" Alec asks, craning his head to look at Magnus' face.

"Mindscape," Magnus replies. "Your old house?"

Alec nods. "I haven't been here in a while."

"I can tell." Magnus nods toward a spot to their left. "What you can't remember is blurry."

And it is. The house itself stands perfectly detailed, sharp and vivid like a high definition broadcast. Parts of the garden, like the willow and the sage- are equally accurate. Others are a smear, a sketchy representation of the bushes, flowers and trees Alec can only vaguely recall.

"Why the tree?" Magnus' eyes flicker towards its branches, a curious look on his face.

"Grandma planted it after uncle Edmund ran off to marry a mundane," Alec explains. The leaves sway gently in the breeze. "The maid used to love it here. We spent most afternoons under the tree while my parents were away." As they always were. Magnus' eyes leave the tree and train on Alec's face, measured sympathy etched on his features. "I can't remember anything clearly, just that I lost in Hide and Seek to her all the time and that I scared a nesting family of Jackdaws away. Then Izzy came along and my parents were busy with the post-Circle trial. The maid quit after the verdict of the exile came and I never knew her name. I used to sneak here while mom and father packed our life away." The look on Magnus' face shifts. Alec stares past the hanging branches at the house, white and tall like an iceberg among the green. "The week before we left Idris for good I sneaked out again while my mom was busy in my room. She never even noticed I was gone, but when she did it took her hours to find me. She never knew about the tree, so it didn't occur to her to look for me there. When she finally found me she was livid. I've never seen her quite as angry. She told me I 'acted irresponsibly' and that I 'ought to know better'." Alec doesn't look at Magnus when he's done talking. He has a vague idea of the expression he might see on his face, and he's not in the mood for pity.

Magnus doesn't say a word for the longest time. When he finally does, he doesn't address what he's just been told. He says, "It's going to be uncomfortable," and something _yanks_ Alec's memories to the surface. It feels like a tide, pictures and sounds and feelings rising, powerful and all consuming, a chaos pressing on them from all sides until they drown.

_He was one under the tree once. Then they were two, and three and four. There's no tree now- just a cat, a cold room and three others, sometimes five. He misses them occasionally- when he remembers how to- but not as often as the little one; he needs them, but they never come. He doesn't like being left alone, can't help but worry about the other three- five, but it's been toolongagoandithurtstothinka boutit- so he stays and looks and keeps eyes open and bow ready even though he hasn't been much of a use lately, before, ever really. Too scared to kill or protect or run, always scared, always looking at the shadows and inching away. It's too dark in here._

_Why aren't you hiding anything?_ A voice asks him. Alec doesn't think he has a voice to answer with. The memories don't stop.

_He hates small, dark spaces. It reminds him of failing that first mission and the ones after it and the closet on the second floor he's been hiding in and his father grounding him back when he was home and still paid attention. _

_Why don't you put up walls?_ The voice inquires.

_He doesn't pay attention anymore, not to him. He comes home once in too long to sleep and clean his sword and tell Jace he's gotten better, almost as good as he's been his age. Almost. Alec's not even that. He's barely._

In the darkness a figure appears. The memories latch onto it like hungry vultures, ripped off him to pursue a better prey. One by one- they disappear, somehow getting absorbed by the stranger in Alec's mind, leaving only a faint glow behind. When they fade completely, Alec is able to recognize Magnus' shape, standing where the eye of the storm had once been. Alec blinks. There's enough space to breathe in the darkness now and no memories.

He's on Magnus' bed again, staring at the warlock perched above him. Magnus gawks at him, his face slightly ashen. "Why didn't you hide anything?" he asks again.

"I don't know how." Alec shrugs. He moves a hand to press against Magnus' cheek. "There's need to hide anything from you anyway."

Magnus' gapes at him some more. Alec grins weakly. With abrupt urgency in his eyes, Magnus grabs the dragontear pedant on Alec's chest. The necklace heats up and the room fades once more, starting from the edges. The darkness spreads like ink in water, slowly swirling until everything is a murky shade of gray. It's dark again and Alec's suddenly alone in the depths of something that feels distinctively alive.

Slowly, pictures appear before him, short clips from Magnus' life floating in the air- paused and much more organized than his own. There are hundreds of them. Alec walks among them, taking it all in as each comes to life before his eyes.

The first recollection is of a woman in green, her hair like a flame, an apple in her outstretched palm. There are wings- delicate and beautiful- sprouting from her back. _Stay with me_, she says. _Stay with me forever._

The second is of a Shadowhunter who looks just like Alec- same complexion, a different shade of blue around the pupils- the third a werewolf, the fourth a vampire. There are fairies, and Djins and wolves and vampires and warlocks, so many Alec gives up keeping score. They turn into a faceless blur before him, the only thing clear being Magnus' immense affection towards each one. Alec can feel his own heart seize with the force of the emotion.

Alec goes through hundreds of memories- of love, and hate and compassion so great it makes him ache with it. The last memory is at the very back of Magnus' mind, but it's brighter and warmer than the rest. In it, Alec sees himself- blood smeared on pale skin, gear on, fire and demons and death behind a head of black hair and eyes as blue as the sky. There's anger and crushing relief and an echo of what Alec can feel in his own heart.

The bleak mindscape wanes abruptly as Magnus' memory of Alec fades. The bedroom reappears around him, slowly, like a hazy dream. The only light in the room is the faint candle glow from the study. Magnus' eyes shine eerily despite the darkness.

"Aku cinta kamu," Magnus whispers, the words falling off his lips in a rushed tumble. "Saya akan selalu mencintaimu."

Alec feels and understands- finally, completely.

"I love you too."

* * *

**A/N:** The chapter with the long overdue 'I love you' is finally here.

I think this is the chapter in which cannon-verse suffers the most. I really like the idea of soul-bonding in almost every fandom and I always felt like the 'I can make you immortal' angle was never explored thoroughly and discarded way too quickly. So I jumped on board, stomped over Clare's firm 'no' on the subject and created this little monster. Let's see how much havoc it will create in the next chapters.

Excerpt from the next chapter: _As soon as they're far enough for Alec not to wake from the noise, Jace cocks his fist just right and throws a punch so hard Magnus is thrown against the opposite wall with a loud smack._


	11. 10: Mar

**A/N: **Cannon-bending.

* * *

**10: Mar**

The second time they wake up together is more or lesslike the first, with the exception of no maiming threat overhead. Alec wakes up later than he usually does, warmer than he usually feels, in a bed that's not his own with Magnus staring intently at him. There's a foreign- though not malignant- presence at the back of Alec's head. Mentally, Alec tries to poke at it.

"Morning, beautiful," Magnus greets him with a wide grin and pokes him in the stomach as if in retaliation. Alec ducks his head under Magnus' chin, and murmurs _g'mornin_ into his collarbone, retreating from the alien presence in his head. Magnus tightens his grip on him with a satisfied sigh. Alec realized with some surprise that he's got his own arms around Magnus as well. "I thought you'd waked up later."

"I usually wake at dawn," Alec says, voice muffled.

Magnus tries to shrug. Alec's weigh and his position on the bed prevent him from moving. "_Mens_ eats up a lot of energy. You're supposed to be unconscious for at least four more hours."

"Old habits die hard."

"Think we can make a new habit out of this?" Magnus rakes his hands along Alec's sides, drawing a slow, compulsory shiver. Alec digs his fingers into Magnus' stomach in revenge. Magnus doesn't seem to care. He laughs- in a wheezy sort of way, because Alec's pressing his knuckles just under his lungs- and shifts his weigh, throwing Alec over one hip, straddling him easily. "I think I'm heavier," Magnus tells Alec thoughtfully, staring down with triumph clear in his eyes.

Alec grins. _As if that's an advantage when you're facing a Shadowhunter_, he thinks, and grabs the front of Magnus' shirt. He pulls on the fabric sharply, simultaneously breaking Magnus' hold on the mattress with his elbow- hikes up a leg and twists to the left. Magnus falls with him, surprise all over his face. Alec smirks, quickly reversing their positions. "I think I'm faster," Alec tells him.

"I think you're being _smug_," Magnus replies, both eyebrows raised.

"Smug suits me," Alec quips. Magnus' expression shifts from surprise to satisfaction, like a fox in a barred henhouse.

"It does," Magnus purrs. He tries to move but Alec puts more of his weigh down and leans forward to entrap Magnus' wrists. He hasn't thought of trapping his fingers though, so when Magnus snaps them and Alec's back suddenly hits the bed- he's more than just a little startled. "Hey!"

"What?" Magnus' grin widens. "You should know better than to date a warlock." He leans close to whisper in Alec's ear, "_We can do magic, baby_."

Alec laughs.

x

They decide to preform _Corpus _the same afternoon. The oils Magnus spreads on Alec's skin and his own forearms smell strongly of linden and rue. Alec sits on the floor at the center of a circle, Enochian symbols drawn out all across its diameter to create a neat pentagram. There's a small ceramic bowl of herbs at each vertex, smoking lightly. There are more herbs- chiefly Harmal- and coal inside.

"Take your shirt off and lie on your back," Magnus orders without a glance. He opens the living room window slightly as Alec strips. The cold winter air summons goosebumps all over Alec's arms. The floor itself is even colder with the soft, plush rug removed for the ritual.

Alec can hear Magnus fiddling with something in the kitchen. There's a muffled _puff_. "It might itch a bit," Magnus tells him as soon as he's out of the kitchen. Alec stares at the soles of his orange slippers and nods. "Some find the Calendula in the ointment irritating."

Magnus falls to his knees by Alec's side. He holds another bowl in his hands, and his sleeves are pulled up to the elbow. He dips his fingers in the bowl and starts inscribing sigils into his own forearms first with thick, black ink that smells strongly of charred earth.

It's Enochian; the language of the angles leaves burn marks on Magnus' skin.

"Can't you use something else?" Alec asks, reaching out for Magnus' rapidly reddening arm.

Magnus shakes his head and pulls his arm out of reach. "You're Nephilim. You can't be bound by anything else."

He does the marks on his left next, this time going all the way from his index finger to the crook of his elbow in a perfectly straight line. He turns to Alec when he's done, a strange glint in his eyes.

Alec's is taken by surprise as Magnus' next move is to straddle his hips. "Don't move," he tells him, dipping his fingers in the ink bowl. One of Magnus' hands comes to rest on the right side of Alec's chest, holding him down- though not forcefully- like a sheet of paper he's afraid might move and screw his design. Alec tries to remain as still as he can, but Magnus' warm hands make it extremely hard not to squirm under his touch.

Magnus' thumb traces the line of Alec's eighth rib- just below the breast- leaving a wide smear of black behind. Lines continue to form all along Alec's ribcage as Magnus' fingers move, some twisting halfway- an intricate design of butterfly touches, barely there. It forms slowly all across his skin, knots and dots and curling lines dark and thick.

Magnus is a heavy, immobile weigh against Alec's torso, pressing down just short of uncomfortable. Alec can feel the heat radiating off Magnus' body through layers of denim and flesh, warming Alec's chilled skin. The ointment does itch as the ink dries, quicker than Alec would have thought possible with how cold the room feels. He ignores the feeling- focusing on Magnus' eyes and hands all over him.

He figures he ought be at least mildly ashamed he's arching into the touch, savoring the feeling of Magnus' fingers mapping a road all across his skin- his father would certainly think so. Alec can imagine his face, dark eyes narrowed, nostrils flared- something about honor and legacy and _appearances, boy _spewing out his mouth.

Magnus' eyes shine brighter with each complete stroke. Alec figures he doesn't care what his father would- certainly- think. He doesn't care at all.

When Magnus leans back and his hand stills somewhere near Alec's waistband- the _Corpus_, and the whole ritual, finally done- Alec barely notices. His skin's burning something terrible and his head feels as light as if full of helium. His arms reach out to wrap around Magnus' neck, changing their positions abruptly. Magnus seems startled for a second before a slow, cautious smile spreads on his lips.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, voice choked for no apparent reason.

"Light-headed," Alec whispers into his neck, voice hoarse. He can feel something building between them- thick but incorporeal- a ghost of feeling and need amplified by proximity and something that must be magic.

Alec feels himself pressing closer until Magnus' heart hammers against his own chest, until he can feel Magnus' every breath as if he's the one taking it. He can feel the design on his torso burning, can feel something pulling him, driving him closer, flesh to flesh.

He doesn't think it's the magic. He thinks it has something to do with the look on Magnus' face and the feel of his hands.

Magnus' shirt is in the way. Alec tugs at it. Magnus' eyes widen slightly, suddenly boring into his, searching. Alec tugs again. Magnus' hands cup the back of Alec's head and pull him in until they crush lips and teeth, too close to be prefect or nice or sane.

It's messy, urgent, a battlefield that's entirely _theirs._ It's them being pulled together so hard they meld into one, it's the maddening heat and insane desire and ridiculous need that's taking them raw and pushing and tearing at nonexistent seams with magic and something much stronger they don't want to resist. It's the subtle strength in Magnus' arms around him, the angle of his crooked smile, the shade of his eyes and the intoxicating taste of his lips. It's everything they are and hope to be, want to be, will hold onto.

It's forever.

x

Magnus sucks onto the tendon between Alec's neck and shoulder- gently enough, no teeth. He laps at the spot, kissing the tender flesh all around the bruise. If there had been a wall behind Alec's head- he would've hit it hard enough to see stars. As it is, his movement only bares his throat. Magnus takes full advantage of that. Alec makes a noise at the back of his throat he can tell drives Magnus mad. He can feel it through the bond inked on his skin and the presence in his mind, but mostly by the look on his face.

Alec's fingers knead in Magnus shirt, brushing along the lines of his ribs, traveling down his forearms to the Enochian burn marks. Magnus lets out a slow, drawn hiss and tugs at Alec's hair. Alec lets go, hands moving away, seeking.

Magnus leaves Alec's neck in favor of his mouth. The kiss is no less urgent than the first, though slower. Alec thinks it's never gonna be enough, that there's never gonna be enough of this.

"We have forever of this," Magnus breathes against his lips. Alec smiles.

"Not nearly enough," Alec tells him. He locks his arms around Magnus' shoulders and pulls him down to the cold floor, to the center of a pentagram that's no longer needed.

x

The wind blows through the open window, knocking the glass against the wall in rhythm with their racing hearts. Neither is aware of the noise. Alec knows his back's going to be a bitch to deal with in the morning, but with Magnus over him- he doesn't care nearly enough to move to the bedroom. Magnus has other ideas. He grabs a fistful of Alec's rumpled shirt, pulling him up. Alec doesn't care so much for the tug as he does for the lips eluding him. They stumble, trying to stay up close and personal despite the required movement. It doesn't work as well as either would have hoped but they make it to the bedroom quickly enough, pulled together as soon as they reach their target.

Alec's knocked back onto the soft mattress. Magnus falls right next to him and Alec doesn't waste much time before he's kissing him again, pulling his shirt, exploring skin. There's a wild angle to Magnus' grin that makes Alec's skin tingle. His breath is cold against Alec's heated skin, and he absolutely _loves it._

x

The magic at the tips of Magnus' fingertips sends sparks up Alec's spine- like a low current electric shock. Magnus keeps murmuring a litany Alec barely pays attention to through the rush of blood and sensations, the feel of lips and hands. It takes him a long while to realize it's not spells or enchantments or part of the ritual- it's Indonesian pouring out of Magnus' mouth, and the words are all about _Alec_.

x

Magnus' hands are as gentle as they were when he performed the marking ritual, but the touch is different as is the situation. Alec shivers although the room's fairly warm, shivers because he's more anxious over how much he wants this than how he's never done this before. Magnus' expression shifts, and Alec can feel him at the back of his mind- a mixture of hesitation and desperation echoing from the new bond and reflected through the slight narrowing of his eyes. Alec gives Magnus a bright smile and whispers, "Let's do this,"- like it's a battle- before nipping on the skin below Magnus' ear.

x

It takes Magnus thirteen knocks to open the damn door, by which time Jace is just about ready to kick it open with a ferocious battle roar. Magnus gives him a baffled look from the opposite side of the threshold. Jace stares at Magnus' ungelled, tousled hair, his array of hickeys and bare chest before he grumbles, "Please put some pants on," without bothering to look further south.

Here's one trauma he doesn't need.

"Prude," Magnus mutters- not quite under his breath- but snaps his fingers anyway. Jace risks a glance and sighs with relief at the familiar pair of leather pants.

Jace turns back to stare squarely into Magnus' eyes and demands softly, "What happened to Alec?". His heart doubles its pace in the few moments it takes Magnus to frown and say 'nothing', as if he has no idea why Jace looks so stricken. "Is he here?" Jace inquires, already pushing past Magnus' form and into the apartment- heading for Alec's room. "Is he alright?"

"Yes," Magnus' tone is carefully neutral; cautious. Jace wonders if he really doesn't know why he came all the way to Brooklyn or is it somehow more convenient to pretend. "He's not in there, though," Magnus continues, nodding towards the doorknob Jace is about to turn.

"Where is he?" A new note of panic appears in Jace tone despite Magnus' calm demeanor.

"My room." And Jace should've anticipated it- he knows he should've- yet he didn't. Somehow, even though Magnus has hickeys and bed-hair and no clothes- Jace hasn't made the connection- hasn't thought of Alec. Hasn't thought- despite the looks and the words and the touches- that Alec would do it; that he'd trust Magnus enough to, like him enough to.

It takes Jace a moment to process this particular epiphany even after Magnus leads him to his bedroom, opens the door and reveals Alec curled up in fluffy, orange blankets. Jace stares, partially relieved that his brother is in one piece and alive, but far more anxious and uncomfortable with this new upgraded version of Alec, who can lie amongst horrendous mountains of furry orange while Jace has the anxiety attack of a lifetime.

Jace stares at his brother for a good long while, uninterrupted. He notes how Alec's curled to the left- like the way he always sleeps back home, his back to Jace, face to the wall- how he is clutching Magnus' pillow to his chest, how he looks so pale and vulnerable among the blankets and without his marks.

Marks.

_His marks_.

There are only three left- the oldest ones, both drawn by Maryse. There's Sight on the left side of Alec's neck, the Angel's mark on his palm and Protection right between his shoulder blades. The one on his collar is gone without a trace, replaced by a tally of small, purple bite-marks.

Jace growls and whirls around to face Magnus with accusation burning in his eyes. "What the fuck did you do to my brother?" he barks, each word emphasized by a short pause.

Magnus regards him with dark amusement. "Do you want details?"

Jace steps closer, squares his shoulders and murmurs, "Get out." He practically shoves Magnus out of his own bedroom.

As soon as they're far enough for Alec not to wake from the noise, Jace cocks his fist just right and throws a punch so hard Magnus is thrown against the opposite wall with a loud _smack_.

Jace's muscles freeze before he can initiate another attack, before he can break Magnus' jaw with a vicious uppercut and kick him when he's down. Magnus gets up slowly, one hand supporting his weigh against the wall. He licks the blood from his split lip, tongue brushing slowly against the small cut. There's an unfamiliar cruel twist to his lips- like the snarl of a viper about to pounce- and fury so bright in his eyes Jace can feel the demon beyond the human flesh.

"The only reason I didn't freeze your cardiac muscles," Magnus starts conversationally, magic sparks bright about his fingers, "is because my boyfriend is strangely fond of you. _Don't _think I will hesitate to kill you if you touch me again, Alec or no Alec."

Jace looks into Magnus' yellow eyes and believes him- believes every word and doesn't give a flying fuck. "It'll cost you his-" Jace starts- shouts, almost- but stops because he doesn't know what to say next: friendship? relationship? _love_?

Magnus cuts Jace off before he can make up his mind. "Yes," Magnus' eyes narrow to slits. "That's why you're still alive." He snaps his fingers and the numbness recedes sharply from Jace's muscles. When Jace doesn't lunge immediately Magnus allows his arm to come down and the sparks to fade.

"Wanna tell me what this is about, Jace?" Magnus asks. Jace glares.

"The parabatai rune," Jace manages to growl through clenched teeth. He pulls the collar of his tee down and jabs a finger against the dark rune on his collarbone, mentioning with his head towards the door of the bedroom. "It's gone." Magnus' eyes widen slightly and his posture shifts from offence to neutral. Jace's fists clench so tight he can feel the flesh tearing beneath his fingernails. He really wants to punch the bastard again. "You _made _it disappear," Jace spits, "what the fuck did you do?"

Magnus doesn't answer, just murmurs "I didn't," but Jace doesn't believe him. "I never meant-" Magnus takes a deep breath and whispers, "I didn't _know_."

"Fucking liar, of course you knew!"

Magnus leans back against the wall, his eyes distant. "I didn't," he repeats. "But I should have."

Jace takes a step forwards but doesn't try to back Magnus against the wall. He's too tall and too dangerous for it to be effective or threatening. "How the hell did you manage to break the rune?" Jace demands instead. "It's supposed to be permanent."

"Permanent is a strong word that's not necessarily suitable in this case," Magnus replies. His voice echoes in the empty hall. "I knew a pair of parabatai once- they were so badly entangled with one another, so intertwined that it was hard to call them two separate beings. Needless to say- it ended badly for them both." Magnus lifts his eyes to level his gaze with Jace's glare. "It's not the case with you two, not even close."

Jace opens his mouth to protest and lifts his fist. Magnus doesn't freeze him with his magic- but with his eyes. He looks at Jace with pity and an apology that's sincere but not rueful; Jace can tell that if Magnus had to, he'd do it all over again, erase the rune over and over because he thinks it was _the right choice_.

Fuck that, Jace thinks, and cuts Magnus' air supply with both hands pressed hard against his throat. A few moments pass, but Magnus doesn't fling him against a wall. Jace feels justified to press harder. Magnus lets him, and Jace has a creeping suspicion he does it out of some misguided sense of altruism; that he thinks he's doing Jace a _favor_ by letting him take off a little steam. Jace stares into Magnus' eyes and sees that pity again- plain and uncovered- pity and acceptance, like the look one gives a wounded animal too afraid and used to biting off the hand which feeds it.

Jace snarls. "What did you do to Alec?" he asks Magnus again, voice low and scathing.

"Broke the curse," Magnus whispers hoarsely, eyes unwavering.

"You broke something else too," Jace sneers at him, pressing further still, testing Magnus' patience. Magnus' face slowly loses its color. Jace doesn't care enough to stop, doesn't care at all. "You think that because we're not like those two love doves you knew- it's alright to break us apart? It's alright to mess with the rune?"

Magnus snaps his fingers before his face turns completely blue. Jace's grip slackens involuntarily. Magnus slaps Jace's arm away, sidestepping him. Jace remains frozen with one arm outstretched, face stuck mid growl. Magnus gives him a cold look. There's a bruise already forming in a ringlet around the base of his throat. Jace takes comfort in it. "We performed a ritual-" a cough, "-it was our last choice-" Magnus murmurs, voice rough and rasping, "-I haven't even considered your connection to him. My intent was to free his soul from Eirlys' grip by taking a hold of it myself." Magnus snaps his fingers again and Jace's muscles unwind so suddenly he crumbles to the floor. "Your parabatai bond, essentially at least, challenged the bond I formed. That's why the rune was broken and erased- my magic eliminated the competition."

Jace doesn't turn his head around. "Let me Mark him again," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. He makes sure it sounds nothing like a request. "If the curse is off, I can apply the rune again. He can have his runes back. All of them."

There's a pause before Magnus answers him. Jace knows it means nothing good. "It won't last," Magnus says finally. "The bond won't allow someone else to seize control- not you and not the Queen. We'll battle it out and you'll lose because the Magia I used is much stronger than your rune."

"It's the Angel's mark, nothing is stronger than-"

Magnus lets out a small, unamused chuckle. "You'd be surprised," he says.

Magnus' voice lacks malice, but his words hurt like a clip of bullets to the chest. Jace gets the feeling that even if the rune can be applied without being repelled- Magnus won't tell him. It's not just Magnus' magic that's been eliminating competition.

Magnus doesn't want him around. Not when he can sever everything Jace has managed to build with Alec ever since they first met and replace with ties of his own. Now when he can be what Jace can't- and will never be- to Alec.

Jace slowly turns around; he doesn't bother getting up, though, just remains seated by the wall, head tilted up at a weird, broken angle. "He never said anything."

Magnus nods. "I didn't think he would-" Magnus shows him his wrists and the insides of his arms. There are Enochian characters singed into his flesh up to his elbow. Jace can recognize the word 'eternity'. "He was too adamant to give anyone a chance to convince him not to go through with it. Once the ritual is done- a connection is formed. It should be strong enough to stabilize the Angel in Alec while keeping him out of reach for Eirlys."

"How?"

Magnus slides to the floor across from Jace at a diplomatic safe distance, his long legs crossed at the ankle an inch from the wall. He seems stiff and uncomfortable, his expression ridden with exhaustion and centuries of questions asked and answers given.

"Since Eirlys originally claimed Alec's soul in order to morph it with a Fey Mark- I did the same in order to keep her away from him. A curse is most usually a specific Black Magia spell tied to one's physical form. In rare cases the curse is applied to one's essence- to the soul- through a direct magical link between the caster and the victim; that kind of curse takes greater power and experience to cast- thus it's far more difficult to take off, almost impossible at certain stages. Disintegrating a curse so delicate often times takes too long to prevent its effects. You can kill the victim of the curse by messing with the parts of his soul the curse hasn't touched." Magnus casts a forlorn look at the door of his bedroom, as if he sees something there, but continues evenly, "I tried everything I could think of to repel a curse of the physical type. Nothing worked. It made no sense for her to curse Alec with something that's so hard to maintain, something as fickle-when she could have just killed him back in her court." Jace doesn't say anything, although the stretching silence following the last statement requires it. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if admitting to his own privet wonders- if to say, _why didn't she?_- is appropriate. If that's something Magnus has been wondering about as well, or if it's a question he has the answer to. "When nothing worked, nothing that _should've worked_ worked, I consulted fellow warlocks. It was apparent the curse was applied to the soul. The only way to break it was to perform the ritual. The only way that was remotely safe."

"The only way you could think of or the only way you found convenient?"

"It's hardly convenient." Magnus doesn't even look at him, still staring at the door. "It might not solve anything at all. Alec might still get kicked off the Clave for being tied to a warlock, for being immortal- and I'm going to lose my rank and drain a quarter of my power maintaining this link throughout my whole life." Slowly, Magnus turns his head slightly towards Jace. "It's _hardly_ convenient," he repeats, some venom seeping in.

It really isn't. If the Clave were to find out they might do worse than just strip Alec off of his marks, worse because of the mark and the immortality, but mostly because it's _Magnus_ and they're _The Clave_ and there's an order they've worked too hard to sustain to make exceptions.

"Then why did you do it?"

Magnus sighs and turns his head away again. His profile remains cool and collected, but his mouth is pulled too taut, his eyes are too narrow. Jace finds sadistic pleasure in seeing him so distraught. "Because I couldn't think about anything else. Because it might give him a chance. Because he wanted to try."

"And because you'll get him tied to you forever," Jace adds maliciously.

"I'm not selfless," Magnus tells him simply. "I won't lie to you and say I don't want him to be by my side for as long as I can get, for as long as he'll have me. But this was his call and his decision." Magnus' voice acquires a mellow note as he says, "I fought him on this and he asked me why. I told him exactly that- that the Tethering might not help him at all, that I can't be for it because I want this too much to be objective." Jace is hit with how sincere his voice seems. "Do you know what he said?"

Jace shakes his head 'no'. He can guess though.

"He said he wants to take a chance." And just then, at the corner of his mouth, Jace can see a smile blooming.

x

Alec comes to the kitchen for a cup of tea only to face the most bizarre of scenarios- Magnus and Jace, sitting across from his other with empty cups and companionable silence. Alec shakes his head a bit- still groggy. "Did something happen?" he asks, words slurring together, anxiety already building.

Jace lifts his head and give him a sharp, calculating look. "Depends on what your definition of 'something' is."

"Go look in the mirror," Magnus murmurs without lifting his head. Alec does just that, but throws "If I've changed species, one of you dies," over his shoulder.

The mirror doesn't reveal anything he hasn't seen already- just a few purpling bite-marks and a chaff low on his shoulder, close to where one of his three remaining runes is located. He has come to terms with how white his skin looks without the marks- how different he seems without the runes decorating every free squared inch of his flesh. He's been avoiding the mirror for the past weeks precisely because of the sight, though other than that- he seems normal. No wings or snout or scales to account for. He returns to the kitchen with renewed dread.

"I don't get what your 'something' is," he tells Jace as soon as he enters his vision.

"The parabatai rune," Magnus answers in his stead.

Alec's eyes darken with comprehension.

"It's gone," Jace mumbles into his cup.

Alec busies himself with the preparation of tea so he won't have to look Jace in the eye as he talks. The only sound in the kitchen is that of opening cabinets.

"You don't seem surprised," Jace observes. His voice quickly sharpens when he asks, "Why?"

Alec doesn't answer right away and doesn't look. He can still feel the anger radiating off Jace's form in waves.

"It started fading almost two weeks ago," Alec informs him briskly after a prolonged silence. He starts searching in the kitchen drawers for tea bags, needing something to do with his hands so he won't fidget. Magnus snaps his fingers and one appears in Alec's cup. Alec gives him a slight smile Magnus doesn't return. "It started sort of, I dunno, cracking- after the battle with Valentine. I guess that's why I didn't feel you on the ship during the battle." Alec ignores the urge to cast a guilty, semi-apologetic glance towards Jace. He doesn't want to see the look on his face. Jace won't like the fact he's been hiding things. "It started chipping off seriously about a week ago." Alec pours water into his mug, adds some sugar and turns around- slowly- to lean against the counter. "I figured it'll disappear whether I do the Tethering or not."

Jace's eyes narrow. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Alec sighs. "What good would it have done?" he asks, stirring his tea. "There was nothing you- or I, for that matter- could do."

"And you just figured it'd be best if I didn't know?" Jace demands. His fists shake on top of the table.

Alec takes a sip from his tea and decides it's way too hot. He turns around to pour more water into his cup. "I figured you'd be distracted and upset over it."

"Didn't it occur to you I'd find out eventually and be angry as well?"

Alec turns around again, eyes boring into Jace's furious stare. "It was best for you not to know."

"Who are you to decide what's best for me?" Jace knocks his chair back in his haste to get up. "Who do you think you are, Alec? You're not my da-"

Alec's eyes narrow. "Thank the Angel I'm nothing like your _dad_."

Jace is obviously fighting the urge to break Alec's jaw with an uppercut. Alec figures he's not fast enough to dodge it if Jace gives in to the violent impulse. "Yet you appear to be the same self-righteous prick that he was," Jace growls out.

Alec isn't sure who throws the first punch after that- the only thing he's certain about is that it hurts like a bitch and that Jace is _so_ dead they're going to find pieces of him in Uganda. It isn't until he hears Magnus screech "If you break Alec's face I swear on Merlin's beard I'll turn you into a toad!" that he realizes he's on the floor with Jace on top of him, his fists coming down methodically.

They end up each pressed into a wall with magic preventing them from moving more than an inch away. "Children," Magnus huffs, settling back on his chair and crossing his legs, pointedly folding his hands. He looks like an exhausted kindergarten teacher after a twelve hour marathon of tag with a horde of six year olds.

He turns to Jace just as he opens his mouth, cutting him off with a stern, "Say 'he started it' and I'll turn you into a toad." He wiggles his fingers for emphasize.

Jace seethes in silence. Magnus turns on Alec. "What you said was uncalled for," he tells him, slowly, as if to make sure Alec understands. "Apologize."

Alec snorts. "No."

Magnus throws his hands in the air. "What are you, twelve?"

"I'm _right_," Alec snaps. "I don't have to apologize."

"How exactly were you right?" Jace demands, voice shaking with anger. "You can't possibly think that _not telling me_ was a good idea."

"What would you have done if I told you the rune's fading?" Alec shoots back. "What, found another potion to turn me blue or a faerie to send us away as soon as we got to her porch?"

"I was trying to help!"

"I know!" Alec practically shouts. He takes a deep breath and repeats, voice somewhat broken, "I know. I know, and that's why I didn't tell you- because you'd exhaust yourself looking for a cure that wasn't there. Because you'd search everywhere and find nothing and blame yourself over it, then blame Magnus, and then the Queen and-" he stops. "You wouldn't be able to do anything," Alec says again, quietly, "and I didn't want you to worry over it, so I didn't tell you it got worse or that time was running out."

It's not an apology, at least not a proper one, yet Jace drops his eyes to the floor. Magnus dispels their bindings. Jace clears his throat and mumbles, "I still think you should've told me."

Alec shakes his head and doesn't say a word. Magnus sighs loudly. "Children," he huffs again.

* * *

**A/N:** I am oddly fond of the Jace/Magnus confrontation concept. I think that if they ever fought for real- it'd be almost as epic as Magnus' weaseling abilities.

On an entirely different note, I might not be able to update for a while (I give it two weeks at most, though I might end up updating sooner) because life happens and life includes a three-day long field trip and way too many tests. We're really close to the finish line for this fic- so please bear with me.

Excerpt from the next chapter: _Alec's hands curl into fists at her words. "No one's a monster because they were born one way or another," he growls, low and menacing. His mother's eyes widen incredulously at his behavior. "Jace is not a monster because Valentine's his father and Magnus is not a demon just because his father was one."_


	12. 11: Nest

**11: Nest**

The touch of the stele to his skin is painfully familiar in the best and worst way possible. Even though Jace's expert hands minimize the pain the marking process causes- Alec's skin still stings with each rune, his whole torso red with the newly applied marks. The stele glides like a needle, sure and precise, over to his arms. Jace tries to apply each rune where it had once been- but Alec can see the imperfections, the wrong angles and placing. He knows no one else would notice, though- not Izzy, not his mom- so he doesn't bother correcting anything.

"Are you coming back home?" Jace asks him as he starts on Agility near Alec's throat. Alec's eyes automatically shift to Magnus. Magnus cultivates a perfectly neutral façade. Alec tries to fish for some sign at the link at the back of his mind; he doesn't feel anything.

"Yes," Alec answers after a long pause. Magnus' expression doesn't change.

"Think you can hide this from Maryse?" Jace asks, hands still busy with the rune. Alec knows exactly what he means- the enormous ink mark all across his chest, far more vibrant and permanent than any of his fresh runes.

"I've been hiding things from her since Meredith Whitehill," Alec says in response. Jace gives him a look.

"What does Meredith have to do with you?"

"Meredith has to do with Aline, and Aline has a lot to do with hiding things from mom."

Jace takes a step back to stare at him. Even Magnus seems somewhat curious.

"It's not what you think," Alec says, eyes on Magnus' slowly spreading grin. He's uncertain what it is, exactly, that Magnus shouldn't think it is- but he can guess by the way his lips curl that he already did. "Meredith was Jace's first girlfriend. I was fourteen and mom kept pestering me about girls since Jace brought her to dinner-"

"-And promptly dumped her three days later," Jace feels compelled to add, an impish expression all over his face.

"You should've told that to mom," Alec grumbles, throwing an accusing glance at Jace. "She was all over my case for the following year."

Magnus' grin widens at Alec's grim expression. "Who's Aline?" he inquires, but his tone suggests he might have a pretty solid guess.

"Aline Penhallow. Maryse set them up at a Christmas party because the Lightwoods kept in touch with the Penhallows even after the whole Circle debacle," Jace offers before Alec formulates a response that won't cause a blow-up. "They dated for a really long time."

Magnus hikes an eyebrow, but a smile remains on his face. Magnus appears bemused more than anything, and as much as Alec studies his face he can't detect the signs of melodrama or jealousy. He's unsure how to define how he feels over Magnus' apparent nonchalance- relieved a little, disappointed a bit, confused a lot.

"We 'dated'," Alec lifts his arms to perform air quotes, "until Hodge finally decided it was affecting my grades and told my parents. I've been flanking Greek and History on purpose for three months before he finally took notice."

"I always knew you flanked on purpose," Jace tells the room at large, clearly pleased with his deductive skills.

"Yes," Alec snaps. "I had to do the all the tests twice because of you. Once right so you could copy it and once wrong so Hodge would fail me."

Magnus shakes his head at them, amused. "Was she the pretty Asian girl with the black hair?" he asks.

Alec and Jace blink at him and nod in unison. They don't need to ask before Magnus explains, "I saw her in your head, when we did _Mens_."

Jace's expression remains comically confused. Alec's clears. "So that's why you weren't jealous."

"You offend me," Magnus murmurs. "I have absolutely nothing to be jealous about." He lowers his voice and steps closer, reaching out for Alec's necklace. "I've been in your _head_, there's no one in your thoughts but _me_."

"Get a room," Jace grumbles.

"We have a room," Magnus throws over his shoulder. "You just happen to be in it."

Alec laughs. Jace rolls his eyes. Magnus mumbles softly – almost too quiet to hear- in Latin, before biting the pad of his thumb. Blood wells on the surface of his skin. He takes the dragontear and presses the small gem close to the wound, coloring it. There's a bright flash of light- sudden and brief. Magnus lets go of the necklace with a smile. "There," he says.

Jace gives a low wolf-whistle. "Neat."

Alec looks at the mirror on the opposite wall. The marking the Tethering has left on the side of his chest has disappeared- regular runes decorating his flesh in its stead. He runs his fingers along his ribs and feels the slightly singed edges of the mark beneath the glamour, beneath the runes. "How long will this last?" he asks Magnus as soon as he's done with inspecting the glamour's effect in the mirror.

"As long as you wear the necklace."

"So I can-" there's a lump in Alec's throat his voice can't get past. The words die in his mouth, barely a hoarse rasp making it past his lips.

Magnus nods. His voice is soft, almost a whisper, when he says, "You can go home."

x

The first and only one to greet Alec back home right at the door is Church. Jace tells him he's been sleeping by the entrance doors ever since the night at the Seelie Court, barely moving even when guests arrived, even when the door was nudged open right by his nose or snagged his tail. Jace says he's been waiting. Alec takes one look at the tangled, grey fur and tired, yellow eyes and believes. Church takes one look at Alec and lets out a single, soulful mewl.

It echoes.

Alec gives him a smile, true and so wide it aches. Church moves his tail once- counter clock wise- and skips away without a sound to follow.

"I guess he said 'welcome home'," Jace says, staring after the disappearing silhouette of a cat with a fond smile on his lips.

"I guess he did," Alec replies, finally breathing. The air in the Institute isn't any different than that of the street- if a tad damper. Yet it feels warmer, safe. It smells of ink and parchment, of old photographs and leather, of willow trees and French lullabies. The sound of his footsteps ricochets off the floors, thrown about like a blind gun shot, too loud and nonetheless insignificant. No one else comes down.

"Where's Iz?" Alec asks as they make their way upstairs. Alec takes two steps at a time. Jace beats him to the top with an unexpected burst of speed on the last four.

"Out grocery shopping," Jace shudders. "Said she'll make her special pasta for the occasion."

Alec pulls a face. "Think I can convince her to let _me_ do the pasta?"

The front door bursts open. Alec can hear shuffling and scuffing before Izzy's voice calls out, "O' brother, where art thou?".

"It's _wherefore _and it means 'why'-" Alec leans against the railing of the last flight of stairs to call down to his sister. "-not 'where'."

There's a muffled _thump_ as the groceries hit the floor. The echo of Izzy's heels precedes her approach. She flings herself on Alec as soon as he's in her line of vision, strangling him with all her might in a bear hug strong enough to crack his ribs. "God, I missed you, you pedant," she murmurs into his neck before pulling back. There's a huge smile plastered on her face. Alec grins right back.

They eat the pasta.

x

Maryse and Robert return three days later in the dead of the night. When Alec stumbles into the kitchen the next morning, he is surprised to see his mother prone over a pile of letters in the dim morning light of the dining hall, a cup of coffee and an empty plate by her side. She seems equally startled by his appearance in her kitchen.

"Alexander," she says, hesitantly, as if afraid her words would banish his existence like that of a ghost. "You're home."

"Yeah." Alec nods. The kitchen is colder than his room. He can feel goosebumps rising all along his arms. "A couple of days now."

Maryse frowns. "Are you cured?" she asks and looks at him like she would if he were inflicted with the demon pox and sneezing. He levels her stare and tries to banish the obvious discomfort twisting his features, the plain guilt at the need to lie in his eyes.

"Yeah," he confirms. A smile spreads on Maryse's face- fast and bright. She quickly abandons her perch on the heavy, wooden chair by the table and wraps her arms around Alec's neck. The embrace is chaste. Alec is too surprised to even attempt and hold on. His mother slips through his arms like water a few seconds later, a smile still on her face, now more reserved and polished; almost professional, trained to portray the exact amount of joy she deems appropriate. It's not much, but Alec reckons it's enough, more than.

"I'm glad," Maryse says, taking another step back. "Welcome back."

She turns back to her papers.

x

_Hey, soul sister, ain't that-_ comes a soft, robotic sound from Jace's jacket pocket. The sound is muffled by the walls of the training room they're about to leave. Fishing out his phone, Jace takes a quick glance at the screen and turns a heated, dark glare in Izzy's direction. She lets out a howl of laughter, almost doubling over with the force of her amusement right on the matts.

"It's not funny," Jace mutters, stabbing the screen with his finger and sending the caller to voicemail.

"Clary?" Alec throws in a guess. Jace's eyes darken. He fiddles with his phone some, trying to change the ringtone Izzy has set without his permission.

"You're right," Izzy huffs in between chuckles. "It's hilarious."

Jace flips her off. She ignores him with a bright smile. "Why's she calling?"

"She wants to come to Idris," Jace practically growls, fingers still tapping in new settings on the screen.

"That's no reason to look as if you've seen a Shax victim," Alec reasons. He bends, snatching the large water bottle on the old table by the door before Jace takes it and throws it at Izzy's head. Jace is too busy with his phone to notice. Alec takes the opportunity to steer him towards the exit.

Jace sighs. His phone gives a shrill, loud _beep_ before he finally pockets it. "I _don't want_ her to come," Jace clarifies. Alec and Izzy follow him out of the training room and into the small hall connecting it to the rest of the floor and their own privet chambers.

Izzy's eyebrows rise. "Why?"

They round a corner and enter a larger hall with three doors on the left and one on the right. Alec turns and leans against the single, isolated door with a frown. His eyes follow Jace's own grimace with some interest.

"I just don't," Jace bites out after a short silence, turning to his own door- farthest on the right.

"You don't have to talk to us about it," Alec calls to him before he slams the door of his room shut. "But you should talk to her."

Jace turns around to look at him, one foot already past the doorframe. His expression is unreadable, but the quirk of his lips- teasing, somewhat smug- is familiar. "Thanks for the advice," he says. Alec has no idea if he's being sarcastic. "But I already did."

The door shuts close soundlessly, but even the muted _click_ sends an unpleasant shiver up Alec's spine. He turns his gaze to look at his sister and they share a moment of quiet apprehension. They can feel it coming, a storm- dark, unavoidable, strong enough to wreck and lift what they all thought was firmly attached and unmovable.

"You think he's alright?" Izzy asks, voice hushed. She throws another worried glance at the spot Jace only just left, as if still seeing his ghost.

"No." Alec takes another sidelong look at the closed door before turning away. "And he's not going to be as long as he feels that way."

Izzy nods. "He's not gonna give her up, though," and Alec knows that, too. Knows, and for the first time since Clarissa Fray appeared before his eyes, understand. "No matter how much it hurts."

Alec sighs. "No," he agrees. "And she won't let him, either."

Izzy's eyes show reluctant acceptance. "Star crossed lovers," she murmurs, a wry smile on her face, too weak to reach her eyes- not even headed there. "Only it's not nearly as romantic as Danes and DiCaprio made it appear." She smiles at the confused expression on Alec's face. "It's a movie," she explains. "Wanna watch?"

He doesn't, to be honest. He wants to sleep, to breathe in home and being back, _being a Shadowhunter again_. He wants to not think about complications, or Jace or the fact he hasn't done anything fun with his sister in months, that he hasn't seen her face or that brand-new gingerly hopeful look on her face for weeks. He nods with a tentative grin. "Just give me some time to shower and change," he tells her.

Izzy beams at him.

Alec takes off the black, heavy leather gear as soon as the door to his room shuts behind him, discarding items as he goes. The door opens with a thin creaking sound just as he throws his soaked shirt on the floor by the bed, a towel already in his hand. He turns around to see Maryse, a small velvet box in her hands. She steps into the room with a cautious, "Alexander."

It's so very tempting to respond with 'Mother', give a grave nod, maybe lower his voice sotto voce as to appear more formal- like she is. He settles for a neutral expression and a curt, "I was just about to hit the showers." He wonders if he sounds as dismissive as he thinks he does.

Maryse pays his words no mind. She steps out of the shadows cast by the dark curtains on the opposite window and promptly drops the velvet box as soon as she lays her eyes on him.

"What?" Alec inquires, uneasiness settling like a snake in his stomach, twisting inside him. He turns his head around, looking for demons, an eerie shadow, an alien presence. There's nothing, just a wall and a window. "Mom?" he tries again, but Maryse doesn't respond, doesn't move. Her eyes widen as minutes tick by, trained on Alec's rigid form. "Mom?" she doesn't respond. "Mom, what's wrong?" Alec takes a step forward. Maryse quickly steps back, flinching- as if in fear- her hands flying forward like a catcher intent on winning the season.

"What's that?" she finally demands, her voice wavering, finger pointed at Alec but arms slightly lower. Alec has never heard her voice as frightened as it is now. Dread slithers up his spine.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he tells her, confused and scared. He takes another step towards her. She backs away.

"That!" she snaps, now accusing. "What's that?"

Alec begins shaking his head, but his eyes catch his own reflection on the mirror by the closet. The air held in his lungs escapes him with a loud _whoosh_, like the first time he's been punched straight in the gut. This time it hurts much worse.

The mark- plain and black against his pale skin, foreign, clearly not a rune- is all too visible. It looks like a bruise- a shadow tattooed into flesh. Alec's hand shoots up to grab his necklace almost instinctively. It's not there. His eyes dart to the heap of discarded clothing and there, in the dim light, he sees a glimmer of silver.

Alec's hand falls back to his side. He can't help fisting it, pressing his nails against the skin of his palms until it breaks and bleeds. He keeps pushing. It barely stings.

Maryse stares at the large symbol on Alec's torso with fright and repulsion Alec had ever only seen on her face once- when she caught Izzy making out with a werewolf boy. Her eyes look the same now- dark, wild, but mostly horrified.

Alec swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He tries racking his brain for an excuse or a story his mother might buy as truth but comes up blank.

"Don't tell me it's not what I think," Maryse warns before he can.

"I don't know what you think," Alec offers tentatively.

"The mark of a demon bond," Maryse replies. Her eyes harden. "Why do you have it?" her expression gives Alec the impression he better not deny the mark is exactly what she thinks it is. He never thought of trying.

"To counter the curse," Alec murmurs reluctantly. "I had a Fey Mark before, this mark broke it."

Maryse seems stunned- either from the information itself or the casual way Alec has delivered it. His tone doesn't calm her. "A Fey Mark?" she whispers, almost to herself. "Why didn't you tell me? The Clave could've-"

"The Clave would have done nothing," Alec cuts her off. Maryse's mouth remains gaping slightly at his boldness, maybe even at his words. Maybe at the fact he knows this when he shouldn't- when all he was taught was that the Clave guards its own. Maybe because she's never thought he'd grow up enough to see through the lie. Maybe because she never noticed he did. "They won't hurt the Court's Queen and I'm not important enough to risk the Fey folk's anger."

Maryse's lips thin in anger. "You should have told me," she insists. She doesn't deny his words.

"I handled it," Alec shrugs, but the motion is too mechanical. Practically compulsory.

Maryse directs a glare towards the dark mark on Alec's skin. He holds in the urge to cross his arms and hide it. "You didn't," she says simply, eyes narrowed. "Who did this to you?"

"No one 'did this to me'-" Alec argues. Maryse snorts.

"Someone obviously did," she counters, her jaw set. "Last I talked to you of the matter you said there would be a cure, that you can break it-"

"-the _bond_ broke it," Alec insists.

Maryse lifts her eyes, furious. "Don't be stupid," she reprimands. It's apparent she believes he was, perhaps always. "You've just brought a bigger problem on yourself!" she doesn't let her voice rise to a shout, but comes as close to screaming as Maryse Lightwood ever does. Alec bites down a scathing response. Maryse isn't pleased with his silence. Her stance shifts subtly, almost as if she's about to pounce. "Who did this to you?" she asks again.

Alec grits his teeth. "This bond broke the Fey Mark the Seelie Queen had on me. I'm not turning human anymore- I can sustain marks, and see demons, and use a stele." He puts one hand on the mark and murmurs, "It's not a bad mark, mom."

Maryse lets out a small, drawn out hiss. "You obviously know nothing," she snaps. "This mark is _demonic_. Do you have any idea how the Clave will react when it finds out?"

Alec stiffens. "That's what worries you?" her face cools considerably. He should've known. "What the Clave thinks?"

"Alec," his mother starts, her tone sharp as a paper-cut. "We can't risk the Clave shunning us out again, we can't risk-"

"You're gonna tell them?"

Maryse stills. The curtains aren't closed properly; there's a single beam of light illuminating half of his mother's face- enhancing the shadows, cloaking her expression until he can only guess its meaning. There's no point in guessing, though. He already knows the answer. Knows because she's silent and grim, because she talks and looks like the Clave dictates a proper Shadowhunter should. She always has, ever since the exile.

Alec wonders how long he has.

There's a small sound- like an inhale, only choked- before Maryse rasps out, "You don't understand." And he doesn't. Doesn't even want to. "I saw this mark once, years ago, on a mundane who married a warlock. She didn't even know what it meant-" Maryse's face twists. Her tone is placating. "-she said she loved him, that they can be together forever. She died a few minutes after saying she thought it was 'romantic'."

"Did you kill her?" Alec asks, numbly.

Maryse shakes her head. "It was a raid," she explains, detached, emotionless. It sounds like a report. "We held her hostage to lure the Downworlder. One of us got tired of waiting, said her screams might help Alistair make up his mind."

Alec recoils. He takes a few steps on unsteady legs before tripping over his discarded gear and landing on his bed. Alistair. The same man Magnus mentioned when they were visiting Phelon. His mother's eyes narrow at his reaction. "She was just a mundane," Maryse offers, almost in consolation. Alec stares at her.

"You let them kill her?"

Maryse shakes her head again and gives him an exasperated look. She doesn't have to tell him he's a child, he doesn't understand yet- it's written all over her face. Alec feels immensely tired inside.

"Are you gonna let them kill me as well?" there's no heat in his voice and no emotion on his face. Just detachment- cold and impenetrable, unreachable. Thin darkness surrounds his heart, protecting it and keeping the memories at bay, the hope away. Brief flashes of lullabies and archery lessons, of Sunday mornings when he was little and she was free are brutally pushed under ice, get coated and coerced into serenity. He gives Maryse a resolute, even stare. She doesn't answer right away.

"I have to tell the Clave," she relents finally.

"No," Alec eyes her with cool disdain. "You don't."

She lowers her head and steps back until shadows engulf her. In the dark, her eyes glint. "You don't understand," she tells him.

"I do," Alec says, as perfectly collected as a glued vase once broken, twice stomped. "I've done this to save my marks, to become a Shadowhunter again- to protect Jace and Iz and Max-"

"You can't be a Shadowhunter if you share your soul with a Downworlder!" Maryse's exclamation leaves Alec's ears ringing.

"Downworlders are not demons."

"They aren't any better." There's fire- vicious and out of control, so very far from it- in his mother's eyes. "It's in their blood, Alec- it's not something they choose but it's something they _are_." And she seems so convinced, completely genuine. As if her words make sense, as if they don't make her sick to the stomach and red with rage. "They're half monsters, and who's to say half a monster's any less dangerous?"

Alec's hands curl into fists, nails digging into old wounds. Blood warms his palms again. "No one's a monster because they were born one way or another," he growls, low and menacing. His mother's eyes widen incredulously at his behavior. "Jace is not a monster because Valentine's his father and Magnus is not a demon just because his father was one."

Maryse's expression shifts, emotions flying but not settling on her face. Surprise, at first, then disbelief and outrage. Finally, a shadow tinted dark with loathing and fear takes over and twists her mouth into an ugly, vicious sneer. Alec can barely recognize her. She looks so savage, so _angry _and _betrayed_. She looks so broken. "Magnus Bane did this?" her voice booms. "He marked you?"

Alec remains silent, almost stubbornly so, but his fists tighten. Maryse stares at him. Red stains her cheeks like a blood splatter, particularly violent. Alec doesn't move. In the stretching silence, her voice, though a whisper, rings clear: "Get out."

x

He leaves the house thirty minutes later with a duffle bag and three siblings and a cat trailing behind him on the stairs.

"You don't have to leave," Izzy mumbles, her face still sheet-white and shell-shocked.

"It's her house," Alec says without turning his head.

Jace snorts. "It's an Institute, it belongs to all Shadowhunters."

"Mom doesn't consider me a Shadowhunter anymore. As soon as she rats me out- the Clave won't either."

Izzy lets out a little gasp at his phrasing. Jace stills. Alec keeps on walking until Max asks, "Why?"

Alec turns around, slowly. His hand tightens around the worn strap of his bag. He looks his little brother straight in the eye and says, "Because she wants to save face."

Max looks confused, both at the answer and at the fact Alec's suddenly forced to leave. The rest appear somber, almost grieving. They hug him, each in turn- fierce and desperate- reluctant to let him go but to stubborn to leave without bloodshed. They'll fight in his stead, he knows, and they'll lose as badly as he did. He doesn't try to stop them. Lightwoods never listen.

So he gives them a smile, Church a pat, and leaves.

The way away from home is a blur of sounds, strangers and sickening hollowness. There's white noise in his head and something wrong with his stomach and eyes- the former hurts, the latter sting. Alec takes out his phone as soon as he's out of the subway, dialing from memory.

Luke answers after five rings.

"Hello?"

"It's Alexander," Alec says. "Lightwood," he adds after a thoughtful silence.

Luke's voice is bemused when he says, "I figured." Alec imagines him smiling- a lopsided, toothy grin he's seen a couple of times directed at Clary. "It's about the apartment?"

"Is there one?"

There's rustling on the other side, probably the sound of the phone moving against skin as Luke nods. "With the amount of money this ring can garnish in the black-market you can buy a house."

Alec rounds a corner and walks past a bus station and a coffee shop. The environment, though familiar, makes him uneasy. His eyes dart around, latching onto shadows and sudden movement in search of threats or imminent danger. The mundanes around him become a haze of alien features and unfamiliar voices. "What do you mean 'can'? I thought you sold it already."

There's rustling again. "I didn't."

"Why?"

"It's a family relic." Luke sounds almost apologetic. "I know how much it means to Shadowhunters. I hated losing mine."

"I'm not part of a family anymore," Alec tells him. He makes sure to keep his voice level and unaffected. "Mom kicked me out."

Luke makes a little sound of surprise, somewhat like a huff. "What?"

Alec's not in the mood for sharing. "Long story," he says instead. "I need someplace to stay."

"What about-"

"No," Alec cuts Luke off before he completes the sentence. "It's not his problem."

"Alec-"

"I said no."

Luke's mouth shuts with an audible _click_. "137 Reade Street, apartment 4D." His voice is resigned and a little sad, as if he never wanted it to come to this. Alec ignores it. "It's near a small market place. I trust you can open the door without a key?"

"No one lives there."

It's not a question.

Alec gets the feeling Luke's smiling at him again. "I wouldn't tell you to break in otherwise."

Alec rounds another corner and heads for the subway again, now with a destination in mind. "If you're not selling the ring, how am I going to pay rent?"

He can find a job, probably, but it will take time- time he might not have. If his mother tells the Clave everything before Jace gets the chance to get his part of the family inheritance- a few heirlooms, antiques maybe- from the cell room, then he'll be left with nothing more than his wallet until he gets his ring back.

"It belonged to a friend- so there's no need for that." Alec refrains from asking what happened to the 'friend'. Hopefully, nothing too dire. "I thought of moving some of the pack members there for a while- but it's way too small for that many people. Especially if 'people' is a synonym for 'werewolves with claustrophobia'."

"Werewolves get claustrophobic?" Alec asks. His voice gets swallowed by a passing motorcycle. He doesn't care enough for the answer to repeat the question. Luke falls silent. They end the conversation soon after.

The trip to Reade Street is short and uneventful. Alec gets out on Chambers and walks, almost automatically, until he's in front of house number one-hundred and thirty-seven. It's a solid, four story unit of red bricks and ordinary windows- none of them curtained. He enters and goes up to the fourth floor. The stele rests comfortably in his hand as he makes his way to the door. He performs an 'open' rune easily, confidently; the stele doesn't resist his touch, just glides smoothly over the wooden surface.

The door opens with a slight screech.

The apartment is a standard two-bedroom, sparse in furnishing but more comfortable than he expected it to be. The scuffed floors and light walls give out an aura of warmth. There's even a rug.

It could use curtains, though.

x

Two hours later Alec has already gotten in groceries, somehow managed to clean a bit and unpack the duffle. It takes Magnus about the same amount of time to come knocking on Alec's door.

Alec's more than surprised to see him when he opens it. "What are you doing here?" he asks, a knife and a carrot in his hand. Magnus gives him a look.

"I could ask you the same question," Magnus says, pushing past Alec and into the apartment. He looks around for a quiet, brief moment and mumbles, "Cozy."

Alec snorts. He goes back to the kitchen to complete the salad. Magnus follows, but keeps his distance. It takes Alec a moment to come up with a neutral expression- one that doesn't say 'I hoped you wouldn't find out about this'. Magnus seems more confused than angry, his eyes tinted with guilt; Alec's too choked to talk, so he ignores his eyes and determinedly concentrates on chopping vegetables.

Finally, Magnus breaks. "What happened?"

"Mom kicked me out," Alec answers blandly, immediately. His voice is surprisingly steady, considering.

Magnus' face acquires an ashen quality, but he doesn't seem surprised, only stricken- at loss for words. His eyes are too wide, too dark, mouth a tight line. "Why?"

"She saw the mark."

Magnus opens his mouth but only a raspy, dry sound comes out. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles when his voice returns. The guilt in his eyes intensifies.

Alec shakes his head. "It's not your fault," he says, tersely. "I was stupid. It was an accident really. She came in when I was about to hit the shower- my shirt was already off. The necklace must have caught in the fabric and I didn't notice it came off too. She saw it. She told me to get out."

One of Magnus' hands comes to rest on Alec's arm, effectively stopping the furious chopping he hadn't even noticed he's been doing. The carrot has been rendered into small slices, almost as if it had been butchered. Alec stares at the poor vegetable and at his shaking hands and breathes- a sharp inhale and a slow, noisy exhale.

"Alec," Magnus murmurs softly in his ear. "Look at me."

Alec lifts his gaze mechanically. His eyes meet concerned gold. "It's fine," Alec tells him, ignoring the hand on his arm. Magnus' face drops. He doesn't seem like he's buying what Alec wasn't even trying too hard to convince him of. "Don't worry about it."

"Your definition of 'fine' is skewed, darling," Magnus tells him gently, reaching out to rub Alec's back. Alec stiffens. Magnus pulls away with a frown.

"I get that a lot."

Grim silence fills the apartment, stretching to fill the empty spaces of missing furniture, a substitute to warmth and familiarity. It's heavy but not uncomfortable, almost like a blanket- though too thin to protect from the cold. Alec doesn't bother with conversation, just finishes the salad and goes looking for plates. He's sure he's seen some when he cleaned the kitchen cupboards, only he can't remember precisely _which_ cupboard.

"How did you know?" Alec's not sure it even matters. His mouth runs without permission, too tempted with the idea of distraction.

"Jace texted me." Of course he did. "Then I tracked the pendant and found you here." Alec finds the plates. Setting the table doesn't take nearly long enough. The silence stretches.

Alec settles by the table, still as a statue and ignoring his plate. Magnus hovers over him- not even bothering to sit. He summons two tall glasses containing something that must be alcohol, or at least Alec hopes it is. The drink smells like cough-syrup and resembles a concoction of glowsticks and glitter. Alec downs his glass without a word. Magnus slides the other towards him. The worry lines around his mouth deepen.

Alec doesn't say anything, just sits there, slouching, and tries very hard not to think. The alcohol doesn't dim his mind enough for the thoughts to disappear voluntarily.

Magnus' fingers brush lightly along Alec's neck- tracing the line of the necklace. The action garners no response, not even a surprised one.

"Aren't you going to ask about 'here'?" Alec makes a feeble gesture to encompass the kitchen, the room, the apartment.

"I figured you'd tell me at one point or another." Magnus keeps on rubbing Alec's neck, pressing here and there to loosen tense muscle. Alec doesn't fight him, but his shoulders hunch almost instinctively. His muscles remain tight.

"Luke," Alec says curtly. "It's his friend's place."

"Where's the friend?"

Alec shakes his head. Magnus' fingers still. "I dunno."

"Will he return your ring?"

Alec lifts his gaze. "You noticed?" he asks, genuinely surprised. Magnus' eyes soften. His hands move to rest on Alec's biceps.

"'Course I did, sweetheart."

"How long?"

Magnus shrugs. "France," he murmurs.

Alec nods. "You didn't say anything," he observes quietly. "Why?"

"I didn't know you wanted an apartment," Magnus says with a mellow note in his tone. He doesn't answer the question.

Alec makes sure to lock eyes before he says, "I didn't tell you because I was trying to be fair."

Magnus frowns. Alec continues regardless. "The fact I was allowed to stay at your place while we were looking for the cure doesn't necessarily mean I have a lasting invitation to crash at your place indefinitely," he explains. "Even if we're bonded now, even if it's forever- it doesn't mean your place is automatically mine. I didn't want to impose."

Magnus lowers his head until Alec can't see his eyes. His hands tighten around Alec's arms.

"What?"

Magnus lifts his head. His golden eyes burn brightly with warmth and affection so strong it strikes Alec speechless. His smile is a sad one- pulled at the wrong angle and too dark. Alec tries to feel anything but dread.

Magnus' arms slide down to lock around Alec's waist- almost lifting him from the chair; the bear-hug pulls them closer together until Alec's face is pressing against Magnus' neck and his arms are caught between their bodies, unable to push away. He doesn't try. Doesn't have enough will or strength to detangle himself from the heat Magnus' body is offering. He remains limp. Magnus sighs in relief. "You do," he whispers in Alec's ear. His fingers travel up Alec's back to stroke his hair in soothing, long motions. His grip loosens a bit so Alec's able to breathe again, but not slack enough to allow him to wriggle. "You _do _have a lasting invitation to crash at my place indefinitely."

Alec feels himself tremble for the first time since his mother dropped a velvet box in his room and pointed at his chest with fear clear in her eyes. "Let me go," he mumbles against Magnus' neck.

"No."

"Please."

_I can't_.

"No." Magnus' voice is firm. Alec can tell by the tone and the sudden tightening of his arms around him that he's serious. "You need this," Magnus tells him, the words mumbled against the crown of his head, whispered in a kiss to his forehead.

"You don't know what I need," Alec argues, halfheartedly at best, mostly because he feels he should fight this. This- this everything that is too much and too fast and too painful to dwell on. But it pulls him in like quicksand, and he falls in like lead, breaking some sort of dam on his way down.

"Let me go."

Alec's voice is weak. Magnus' face hardens in exhausted resolution, prepared for the last volley. "No." Alec breathes onto his neck- "Never-" sharply. Hitching. "I'm never letting you go."

They stay frozen in position until Alec's heart calms to a moderate storm, until the light trembling of his hands- digging into Magnus' back- ceases. Until he can think clearly enough to feel and understand and grieve over the loss of his home and life and squelch the urge to cry because he's got nothing left. "Never thought the cat'd be out of the bag so soon," Alec murmurs, swallowing hard; each word feels like punch to the gut. Magnus presses a kiss to his temple, then another. He doesn't stop. "I didn't think she'd kick me out, or tell the Clave, didn't think she'd hate you, or me- the idea of us- that much, she- you can't- she _freaked_ when she saw the mark-" the words flow out of him like filthy confessions, words scattered, erratic. Then his voice dies- breaks, simply, completely- and he can only whisper: "I've never seen her as afraid as she was the moment she laid eyes on me."

Magnus murmurs comfort and hopes into his ear. His body is warm. The hand in Alec's hair is warm. Alec's heart feels frozen.

"You can't change how people feel," Magnus tells him gently, pulling back- _the heat is gone_- to look at his face.

"She wants to change how _I_ feel," Alec mutters bitterly. He's so cold.

"It's not her choice to make." Magnus smiles, a little sadly, and gives him a soft- like butterfly wings, like warmth and home and belonging- kiss. "It's your life, Alec. Your feelings, your decisions. Don't let anyone make you into anything you're not."

Alec nods, once. Then he buries his face in Magnus' neck, clutching to him desperately with both arms- and heaves a dry, wrecking sob.

He's still cold, but it's bearable.

x

Magnus is the one to get up and open the door when the doorbell rings. Alec's too worn and wrapped too tightly in magically stolen blankets to even consider moving from his spot on the stolen sofa in front of the stolen television. He hears the voices all too clearly, though.

_Iz and Jace_.

"Come in."

And they do, but instead of two siblings- he gets three. Three long faces, one slightly bewildered and two grim; the sum remains- three and not four.

It hurts.

Max jumps on the (stolen) sofa by Alec's side and says, "We snuck out to visit you!".

He sounds proud.

Alec's expression softens. Izzy scruffs her boots on the rug and proceeds with dumping a huge pack of popcorn on the (stolen) coffee table. "Who wants to watch a movie?" she inquires, waving a plastic, DVD disc box. "I've got DiCaprio."

"He's gotten fat lately," Magnus comments, his nose scrunching up. He slides back into the space on Alec's left, between his body and the arm of the sofa, across from Max. "I want Titanic days back."

Izzy hums her agreement as she settles on the floor close to Alec's legs. Jace does the same on the other side.

"He's the dude from Titanic?" Alec asks. Magnus turns to look at him with reverent hope in his eyes.

"You watched Titanic?"

Alec shrugs. "It's about that sinking boat, right?"

Magnus' shoulders slump a bit and he sighs heavily, leaning heavily against Alec's side. "A sinking boat," he mutters darkly. "He called the Titanic 'that sinking boat'…"

Alec turns to stare at his siblings with a confused frown. "So it's not about a boat?"

Izzy sighs in exasperation, shaking her head as if all hope is lost. Magnus seems crestfallen. Alec frowns at him with something close to hurt in the tight lines of his mouth. Jace takes one look at the both of them and starts laughing so hard breathing seems lost on him.

"What are you talking about?" Max asks grumpily, looking from Izzy to Jace to the strange, colorful man sitting on his big-brother's side in utter confusion. Alec can relate.

"A movie you're too young to watch," Izzy mumbles. Max protests loudly. She ignores his cries of 'nine's old enough!' and 'I'm not a kid anymore!' and pulls out another DVD set box out of her bursting backpack.

"What else have you got there?" Alec asks, giving the bag a dubious look. Izzy grins.

"Your inheritance." Her eyes glint and Alec can't be one hundred percent sure whether it's with the tears she must've already spent or mischief.

"And ring," Jace adds and throws something small and shiny at Alec's head. Alec's hands come up automatically to catch it. Jace looks impressed with his reflexes. Alec holds onto the ring and ignores his brother's eyes.

"Thanks."

Jace nods.

"Who wants Disney?" Izzy throws Titanic Dude's disc on the table and waves another plastic case vehemently. Max's eyes light up. He ducks his head before anyone- but Alec- sees and murmurs, "Disney sucks".

"What brings thee?" Magnus inquires, clearly interested. He doesn't hide it half as well as Max does.

"The classics," is Isabelle's response.

Magnus nods approvingly. He snaps his fingers and a silver, slick DVD player appears beneath the television. Alec opens his mouth but Magnus beats him to it with a, "It's from my own house, darling."

Alec shuts his mouth.

They watch two movies before Max falls asleep on Alec's lap. Alec's attention's divided unevenly between Magnus' prodding and poking and 'you see, she's totally like Willa, just fat and octopus-y' and the colorful cartoon on the screen. Alec gives up on the first movie as soon as Magnus starts cooing at Ariel and Prince What's His Face. He doesn't even bother with the second- leaning closer to Magnus and dozing off on his shoulder until Iz kicks his foot lightly.

"Time for Romeo and Juliet!"

Alec blinks slowly at her. She doesn't answer the question in his eyes, just pops in the disc.

"He's not fat," Alec says as soon as Romeo appears.

"That's because it was filmed before Titanic," Izzy says knowingly. Magnus gives her an impressed look Alec doesn't share the sentiment behind.

Frankly, the movie's a shit rendition of the play. The effects grate on Alec's nerves, the dialogue is too out of place not to be laughable, and DiCaprio's too pretty not to be annoying. Alec makes himself comfortable against Magnus' side- careful as not to disturb Max- and prepares for a nap. Magnus strokes his hair once, murmurs something Alec can't discern, and slips his arm around Alec's waist.

Alec wakes up when the credits begin to roll and Magnus moves his arm around to summon blankets for Alec's siblings, strewn all across the floor like puppies tired after a chase. Their circle is small and tightly knit- protective like a shield, like a pack surrounding its young. Magnus turns to him when Alec stirs, a soft smile on his face. The television tints his skin eerie blue. "You've missed the whole movie."

Alec nods, still sleepy. "You were warm," he mumbles, "and the movie was boring."

Magnus gasps theatrically, face contorting in an exaggerated grimace. "Whatever do I find appealing about you," he murmurs, leaning down and closer. Alec wraps his arms around Magnus' neck.

"No idea."

"It's the eyes," Magnus reveals, planting a kiss on Alec's cheek, slowly moving closer to brush his lips along Alec's jaw. Alec nuzzles Magnus' neck, humming, content. His fingers lace behind Magnus' head in order to tip it. Something cold meets his touch at the motion, something thick coiled around his finger.

The ring.

Suddenly he's all too aware of it, of how long it's been- so long that its presence against his skin feels foreign and heavy, almost irritating.

Magnus leans to kiss him. Alec fumbles with his ring.

Then an idea strikes.

Alec pulls away from the kiss and leans his forehead against Magnus', so close it's hard to focus on his eyes, on his face- so close he feels, rather than sees, the confusion on Magnus' face. "Alec?"

"I want to give you something," Alec tells him, taking off the ring and carefully pulling back from Magnus' body. He thrusts his palm forward - square between their bodies. The ring gleams in the dim light the television casts. Magnus stares at his hand for a long, quiet moment. He lets out a small, startled sound not entirely unlike a gasp.

When Magnus finally lifts his gaze, Alec's already biting his lip bloody with worry. Magnus gives him a sun brilliant smile and takes the ring carefully. He takes one of his own rings off- a surprisingly simple silver band with an intricate design of magical symbols engraved on its surface- to replace it with. The Lightwood family ring has never been Alec's favorite- he always thought it was too bulky, that it lacked finesse- but it looks perfect against Magnus' skin.

_It looks right_.

Magnus takes hold of Alec's left hand and slips the ring he's taken off on his finger. _Ring finger_.

Alec's lips pull up. He leans in closer. There's an uncertain edge to Magnus' expression as he asks, "Be mine?"

Alec laughs quietly. As if he isn't already.

"Always."

* * *

**A/N: **Exciting news, guys- this fic is a nominee in **Energize W.I.P** **Awards **fanfiction contest! I have no idea who sent an email to the organizers and recommended this story for the contest, but I want to hug them and bake them cookies and cakes and possibly marry them.

Can you tell I'm excited? no, really, I am :) So, if you guys have the time and the patience to vote (possible till the 20th) here's the link (the annoying, no-dots type link because FF):  
www*energizewipawards*blogspot*com

On another note entirely, I finally got to writing the Lightwoods, who I believe have been smothered with sugar, spice and everything nice throughout the book series. Maryse is just the tip of the iceberg on that one, be prepared for angst next chapter.

Excerpt from said angsty chapter: _"I took care of it," Robert assures him confidently. His eyes shine with zeal, bright as that of a crusader, like those of an idealist in too deep and over his head and cutting off everybody else's. Hot and dangerous as a wildfire. _


	13. 12: Fare

So, I'm not dead. Really.

* * *

**12: Fare**

The night is unsurprisingly cold. Th area's deserted. The sky is moonless. Robert takes it all as a sign. He steps forward into the shadows, footfall as silent as a cat's. The three hunters in the alley nod in unison- curt, precise and deadly. Robert's hand tightens around the hilt of his sword. His eyes narrow as he looks past his companions towards the street. It's a peaceful enough neighborhood. He hopes they won't have to disturb the neighbors with the noise.

His phone vibrates in his pocket but he ignores it- not for the first time tonight or this past decade. Maryse has been calling for the past two hours, persistent and irritating. Distracting. He can't get distracted tonight.

She knows. She must know. She's not a fool, or at least wasn't one when they married. Perhaps it has changed. Maybe that's why she's calling. Maybe she doesn't know.

Robert grits his teeth.

She should. It's only right.

The night grows darker and the hunters more restless.

"How long?" Harley grumbles, eyes firmly fixed on the street ahead. He's searching for the target. Robert approves of his dedication.

He rewards it with a sharp snipe of, "as long as it takes."

Joshua turns to look at him with eyes too dark, too shifty. He's rebellious and young- too young to sport the rank he flaunts so recklessly. Too young to be any good, to be reliable or trustworthy. Robert glowers at him down his nose. Joshua lifts his chin but doesn't utter a word. Benjamin doesn't even turn from his post by the fire-escape at the brief exchange of words. Robert stalks forward to join him in his watch.

It's one hundred and ninety six minutes before the warlock appears. Robert gives the sign. The small group moves.

The shadows swallow them as they proceed. Their journey is brief, the distance so short every sound must be muffled, extinguished- else the target might discover their exact location and flee. They can't have that, not tonight. Not with this one.

The glamour masks their presence, drowning their scent and energy and breath at the heart of the night. Mask it enough so it's untraceable unless looked for- enough for an opening.

They strike as one- lethal, quick, and efficient.

The warlock crumbles down at the first hit. They don't stop. Robert doesn't want them to. Neither Shadowhunter cares enough about Downworlders to rein their fists and knives even if he did.

There's not enough time for magic.

Not enough time for the Downworlder to even scream.

They remain silent throughout the whole ordeal. They make sure to hit repeatedly below the lungs- an inch or so in- so not to allow any sound to escape.

The neighbors aren't bothered.

When they're done the asphalt's slick with black blood. Robert takes a step forward, carefully avoiding anything the might cause a stain, and kicks the warlock in the ribs until his body rolls around.

The face is bruised and swollen, with deep gashes and a cut just below the temple, but the eyes are alert. Alert and yellow like those of the hellhounds.

"Stay away from my son," Robert murmurs, low enough so the rest of the group won't hear. "Stay away from him or die like the monster you are."

They leave before the sun comes up.

The warlock resembles a bloody pile of useless, beaten meat when they do.

X

Magnus leaves a few hours before dawn. Only now it's been three and he has promised to come back after two. Said he had a colleague to meet and things to pick up at the loft. He said he'd be _back_.

Alec gives it another half an hour before he feels justified to fret and pace and tear at his hair like he's mentally unstable. He's started calling as soon as it became apparent Magnus is stuck somewhere between _getting home_ and _being home_- but to no avail. It's been almost two hours of dialing and nothing but deadly silence.

Uneasiness slithers up Alec's back, cold and unwanted in its caress. _By the Angel, I hope he's just got sidetracked by some shoes,_ he thinks, trying another call. The voicemail message is predictable, but disappointing nonetheless.

He contemplates going out to search- though he doesn't know where exactly. He doesn't know how to cast a tracking spell to find out, either. It takes another call that goes straight to voicemail to convince him he should. With his head spinning Alec pulls on a jacket and storms out of the apartment, though he makes sure not to slam the door in his haste- mindful of his family strewn about the living-room floor. He contemplates his decision to leave them behind as he goes down the stairs. One of them would have to stay with Max anyway. _He's just late_, he thinks, and if Alec's alone with no one to tell him otherwise, no reinforcement to sustain the belief that _something might've gone wrong_, then everything might be alright. _He's just late_.

The presence at the back of his mind urges him to move faster, to run. His gut twists painfully.

Something's wrong; Alec can feel it in his bones. He sticks to rationalizations and logic and _he's just late, that's all_ despite the nausea rearing its head. It's easier this way.

He's in such a haste to leave the building he misses the looming presence in the shadow by the wall.

"Alexander," a voice calls to him from behind. Alec's head snaps back so fast it's practically a whiplash. A sudden vertigo settles over him and the images swim for a few brief moments. The voice is familiar- the figure a tall smudge of black, wide and bulky.

The man steps out of the shadows just as the worst of the feeling recedes. Eyes glim blue in the sudden light of the streetlamps.

Alec's voice gets caught in his throat. He croaks something unintelligible.

Robert's gaze narrows in contempt.

Alec tries to speak again. His apprehension grows and his voice breaks- in fear or in shock, he can't tell- as he rasps: "What are you doing here?"

Robert huffs at him.

"Your mother told me what happened."

He should've known.

He shouldn't be surprised.

_(He is) _

She must've already reported it as well.

_(He shouldn't be)_

His father doesn't seem affected by the anxiety spreading on Alec's face or the pale quality of his skin. "I took care of it," Robert assures him confidently. His eyes shine with zeal, bright as that of a crusader, like those of an idealist in too deep and over his head and cutting off everybody else's. Hot and dangerous as a wildfire.

Alec takes a step back. His stomach drops. "What did you do?"

"Handled it," Robert tells him. If he were a lesser man, or any other man, he'd shrug. As it were, Robert just squares his shoulders and shifts his stance so subtly Alec has to strain to notice. His posture gives off an air of intimidation- a covert message of an alpha to the world. Alec matches him eye for an eye, now seething.

"_What did you do_."

Robert appears confused by his demand. He's stunned enough to answer directly: "We talked to him." Robert's lips twitch, but it's not a smile. Alec's not sure he's capable of such an expression. "He won't bother you again."

Alec knows what 'talking' means in Shadowhunter twang. His heart stutters and stills, slowly freezing over and dropping away. His chest contorts and his shoulders hunch over instinctively. He reckons it's a physical reaction to emotional stress, a protection against the terrifying dark images of broken bones and blood his mind conjures.

_Magnus._

Alec's knees shake so bad he has to lean on the wall of the closest apartment building. It has nothing to do with the nausea he's been experiencing for the past few hours. Now he only feels hollow- as if something's been ripped out of him.

_Did he kill him?_

"Why?" Alec's voice is barely more than a whisper, but the street is too quiet for it to go unnoticed, his tone too pained to be ignored.

He should ask for confirmation, but Alec can't bring himself to form the words.

Robert frowns. "He marked you," as if that's an explanation, an excuse. As if it's a justified reason.

As if he knows what that means.

_(Does he?)_

Anger- sudden and welcome- flares at the pit of Alec's gut, spreading like Drevak poison. It warms his numb body, throwing reason into the wind. "That's none of your business!" his voice escalates as easily and quickly as a tornado might pick a house. It has the same disastrous consequences of the house dropping.

Alec moves before his mind orders his muscles to do so. His brain shifts from its usual flight mode so quickly he finds himself at point range zero with a fist in his father's leather jacket and a stele pressed against the hollow between Robert's neck and chin.

Robert lifts an eyebrow. His expression twists until his lips curl above his teeth- baring them in a snarl so ferocious and cruel it reminds Alec of werewolves in their first moon-cycle.

"Remove your hand, Alexander." Robert practically spits his name. His fingers curl deliberately slow, knuckle by knuckle, around Alec's wrist holding the stele. "Now."

Alec knows he can- and will- break his father's hand if Robert doesn't let go before the red haze in Alec's mind completely overtakes him. Alec growls and doesn't budge. He looms over his father, pressing him into the wall behind them. His hand doesn't loosen.

_You deserve more than just a broken hand._

Robert's hand clamps on Alec's wrist- tight as a bear trap. "Stop it," he hisses.

"Tell me where he is."

Robert's lips thin to a none-existent stress line. "You shouldn't care," he tells Alec, his voice coaxing. "He's a monster."

Alec slams Robert into the wall without a word. The stele digs deeper into Robert's skin. It must hurt. Blood slowly trickles along the contour of his father's neck.

Robert's eyes are bright but they hide an abyss of darkness so impenetrable and full of lurking creatures Alec finds it hard to stare at them for too long. He can see a thought being assembled, a decision reached. Alec prepares for a fight.

Instead, Robert tells him the address. Alec growls, "You better be telling the truth," before stepping away and rushing, without thought, to the other side of the city. He almost makes it past the corner when his father's voice stops him.

"Why do you care?"

And this time it's a question. This time he doesn't seem to know. This time he's only trying to suggest he shouldn't with his tone, his face- not his words.

"Because I love him."

Alec doesn't wait around to see his father's world crumbling down, but he thinks he can hear a choked, wheezy gasp and a broken, "Alexander."

X

The first thing he sees is the blood, already dry on the sidewalk. It creates a wide stain, like a halo, around Magnus' broken form. It has spread so wide Alec's afraid to guess exactly how much there is, but he's more than aware it's too much.

The body amidst the red looks like a shot bird, twisted and hunched on itself, too broken and disjointed to be salvaged.

There's a sharp stench of copper and sulfur, strong enough to make Alec's stomach churn.

He drops to his knees by Magnus' side, right in the middle of the drying pool of blood. There's a large lump in his throat. He can't breathe or talk or _think_. The tears slip out no matter how hard Alec's trying to push them back.

His hands latch onto Magnus' form, seeking a pulse. They shake too badly for the attempt to be successful.

Magnus is far too pale. There's blood on his face, red against blue bruises and brown, infected cuts. His eyes are closed, but no matter how blurry his vision and how painful the sight- Alec can't imagine he's sleeping.

_Please, please don't let him be dead. _Magnus' skin is cold and clammy. _Please._ There's blood on Alec's hands now. _Pleasepleaseplease_. Pushing against his chest doesn't help. _Don't leave me, please._ Breathing for him doesn't help. _I love you. _Nothing helps.

It's not until Alec hears the sound- hoarse, small, inhuman- that he becomes aware of his own sobbing, of the chant and pleas. _Don'tbedeadpleasepl-_the words pour like prayer- _easedon'tleavemenever-_ but no one listens, no one ever does- _leavemepleasepleasedon't. _He makes such a racket he doesn't pay the pain any mind at first. It's not until he can smell something burning, something close, that he feels the searing heat from the dragontear.

Alec looks around.

The air about them is tinted gold, practically shimmering. The pendant strains against the silver chain holding it close to Alec's chest. There's a hole in his shirt, a burn mark by his heart and a glow so fierce from the gem Alec can't bear looking at for longer than a few seconds at a time. He trains his gaze on Magnus' face instead.

Magnus' eyes are open and glazed over.

Alec's heart practically bursts. His throat is too dry to speak, yet he does- a pathetic whisper, so quiet, "Please."

The dragontear gives a sudden pull and breaks the chain holding it. It hovers over Magnus and _melts_, slowly drips on Magnus' chest, face, arms and seeps into the wounds. Then it solidifies- like armor- over the injuries. Magnus steers. His first inhale sounds like a gunshot.

_He's alive,_ Alec has enough time to think before he feels something reaping him in half from the inside.

It feels like magic, wild and out of control. Like Chumana's spell amplified, somehow more malicious. It feels like an invisible spear embedded in his chest all the way through, and someone pouring acid into the hole. Alec's skull throbs. His hands shake. He can't tell if he's upright anymore because there's nothing but darkness before his eyes. Everything is silent.

He can't hear his own ragged breathing. Can't feel his chest rising. There's nothing.

_Maybe I'm not breathing_.

The silence burns.

_Maybe I'm dead._

X

_The number you are trying to call is not reachable_ a generic voice informs Jace for the millionth time. His stomach performs a somersault before it clumps on itself again.

"Still no answer?" Izzy's voice wavers, but it doesn't bear much hope. She's propped against the filthy wall of the random alley they veered into, panting. Her eyes are restless- barely sparing Jace a glance, or his words a moment of thought- before her attention is back to scanning the crowds, the street.

Jace shakes his head. Izzy isn't surprised. "Let's go," he grumbles, pulling away from the shade of the alley and back into the mayhem of morning rush hour.

"Where?"

-_not reachable-_

"I don't know."

Neither of them does.

_Where are they?_

Jace runs as fast as he can, his feet pounding on the asphalt too loudly, too slow. The street is a blur around him, the people a nuisance and an obstacle. Izzy's presence is the only one he's somewhat aware of. They cut through the crowd in unison, moving forward.

_Too slow_.

_-the number you are-_

They have no idea where to look. They just run, run because at least they can do that and try. Jace can only hope one of their guesses would hit the bull's-eye. The first two missed royally and they've lost enough time as it is. They can't spare any.

They run.

_Still too slow._

Breathing becomes harder.

Run.

"There!" Izzy's voice cuts through the rhythm of step-breathe-step-faster-_there'snotime_. Jace's head snaps to the left sharply. He can see them now, across the alley.

Two figures, slumped together.

One bloody heap.

One red road.

No demons.

No movement.

_Were we too slow?_

Jace prays to the angel, hoping they weren't. They approach the figures cautiously, back to back- looking for threats. Izzy breaks formation and hurries forward.

_Alec _is the only word on her lips. _Alecalecalec_.

Jace can't think of anything else to say other than perhaps, _please be alive_.

They crouch by the injured.

"What do we do?" Izzy's voice is panicked, her words rushed, hands close to her chest. She's shaking. Jace can barely hear her over the sound of blood rushing to his temples.

Jace's hand fumbles for a pulse on Alec's neck, then he looks for Magnus'.

_It has to be there._

There's something. Flattering. Faint. Maybe it's just his imagination- a figment, a sensory delusion result of wishful thinking. Maybe it's his own heart beating so loud he mistook it for theirs.

"Please," Izzy whispers over and over.

Jace doesn't say anything. Can't spare enough air to.

"What do we _do?_"

Jace shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It doesn't help. He's not the calm and collected member of their bunch and Alec's maybe-breathing maybe-not and Jace has no idea which or what to do.

"What-"

"Shut up!"

Izzy recoils. Her face is shocked. Too white. Scared. Her eyes are wet. Jace turns away from her. He looks for pulse again. That's when he sees it, all of it.

The golden patches on Magnus' skin- solid, like metal.

The missing pendant on Alec's chest.

The rings on their fingers.

_The number you are trying to call is not reachable._

X

Movement is as hard as cognitive thought. Awareness of his surroundings returns slowly, in patches like smoke and water- impossible to grasp onto. Consciousness is evasive, slumber- tempting. It's long before he's aware of the pain in his limbs and the ache where his head hit the pavement.

There's a soft hand on his forehead; it's his only anchor to reality. When it retreats, it takes the darkness with it. He opens his eyes slowly, inch by inch. His eyelids fight him with vigor- clinging to the fog in his mind.

The first and only thing he sees are cold eyes and an empty smile blocking the rest of the room. His vision narrows to include only her face, everything else fading to a blur. The edges of his vision are black. "Nephilim," Willa's voice is softer than he remembers it being, like the faint bubble of a spring masking the roaring thunder.

Alec doesn't respond. It's cold. His head throbs.

"Alexander," Willa calls to him again.

Alec blinks. "Where-" he starts and halts, clears his throat. Tries again. The words stubbornly refuse to leave his mouth.

A question requires an answer. He's not entirely certain he wants to know the answer for his.

Willa seems to understand the meaning regardless of his poor phrasing but it takes her a moment to formulate an answer. In that brief pause million possible scenarios fly through Alec's mind, possibilities he hopes he won't have to explore. Dread moves up his spine, up and higher until it forces words previously stuck. "Where's Magnus?"

The smile doesn't drop from Willa's face, but there's a new quality to it, not quite vicious- but close. Willa's hand comes to grip Alec's. Her fingers stroke the ring on his finger.

_Magnus' ring._

"I thought I should be here when you wake up," she tells him cryptically. Alec has no idea why she is there at all.

"Where's Magnus?" Alec repeats, panic distorting his voice. He tries to move, get up, anything. He pulls his hand out of her grip, rolling on his side. The room- unfamiliar, walls grey and cold like metal- spins.

"It's useless," Willa mumbles.

Alec twists his face to look at witch. "What are you talking about?" he asks. _He can't be dead_. His feet touch the cold floor. It's tiled. _He can't be. _The stone is familiar, but Alec can't recall where he's seen it before. "Where am I?"

Willa remains silent and still. Her eyes are as sharp as her smile.

"Where is Magnus?"

His demands go unheard and his panic grows. Willa slowly rises from her perch on the small, rickety chair by his bed, heading toward the back wall where a single, rectangular window up by the ceiling illuminates the entire room. The window is barred.

"He's safe," she finally says, almost too quiet for him to hear. Her eyes remain locked on the slice of sky visible through the bars. "He's safe as long as you're here-"

A tide of relief steals Alec's breathing momentarily. Through the rush of he'salrighthe'sfineohgodhe'sokaythankyou Alec barely registers the end of her sentence. Magnus is alive. For long, quiet minutes- it's all that matters. He's alive. He's alive. _He's alive._

"-locked away." Suspicion creeps around the swelling excitement in Alec's heart, through to the back of his mind, stirring dust and rummaging through memories of days spent back home. He looks around but it's the stone under his feet that finally reveals the whole picture. The stone and the runes inscribed diagonally on all four walls, the door hidden with glamour and the sharp, familiar scent of willow trees.

Alicante.

"How did I get here?"

Willa's expression shifts to mildly bemused. "Aren't you a clever one," she murmurs, "so quick to disperse the mystery." The scorn in her voice is palpable- and worse than in their previous encounter- but Alec can detect the rapidly fading traces of bewilderment.

Alec awaits her answer. He knows there's bound to be one. It takes her longer than he expected; long enough for Alec to rise and pace the room, to inspect the runes and confirm his suspicions. He's in one of the cells in the Guard, though he doesn't know why or how the witch got in. His hand traces the long line of Enclose-Lock-Weaken-Lock-Enclose runes until he gets to Conceal-Conceal-Conceal. That's where the door must be. He's trying to find its exact location when Willa finally spits, "You almost killed him." Alec doesn't turn around to face her, but her eyes burn. "It's all your fault."

As petulant as her claim might sound, Alec answers with all the somberness the accusation demands. "I know."

Willa huffs, and when she speaks, her voice drips of loathing as thick as honey, "Do you, really?"

And he does; he knows she's right- a sort of bone-deep realization that makes him sick to his stomach and stomps over the relief. He'll get Magnus almost killed over and over until it's not almost but certainly, definitely, _dead_. Dead because his father kicks too hard or pulls too fast, or the Clave sends its own toy soldiers to fire warning shots with loaded guns and surgical precision. Alec's palm flattens, fingers spread on the cold stone wall. Magnus' broken body is imprinted on his eyelids, and when they close- it's like he can't breathe again.

"It was your responsibility, it happened because of you."

Alec leans his forehead against the cool wall, breathing through his nose air and harsh words. The accusation echoes in Alec's skull like the footprints of a disaster. _He's alive_, Alec tells himself. _He's alive. _"I'll make them stop," he says- lies- because he doesn't know how.

A hoarse, mocking note tumbles out of the witch's mouth. It cuts through Alec's numbness. "How?" she demands, "will you kill your father for him? Become a mundane for him?"

The silence that follows her words is almost painful. Then she laughs again. "You are selfish, Alexander Lightwood, and you should stay far, far away."

Alec turns to face her.

"If you care, you will stay away."

Alec's lips curl over a snarl. "I care."

"Do you, really?" she questions, disbelief a frown on her face. "Your family won't rest until you both are dealt with-" her tone reminds Alec of his father's. _We talked to him_, Alec remembers him saying. _We dealt with him_, he had meant. Alec's throat dries abruptly. Willa takes one look at his paling face and sees an opportunity. "Your father, the Tethering, the law-breaking, the sentence Magnus is about to face- it's all on you. If he had died tonight- it would've been your responsibility. It would've been his blood on your hands."

She moves past him to the concealed door and knocks three-four-one on a single stone right by the center. There's a confirming knock on the other side. Turning, the witch presses her back to the wall and melts into it with a single, cruel smile thrown at Alec. "Stay away," she tells him before disappearing completely.

_If he had died tonight_, she said. For the first time since Alec's woken up and discovered Magnus is alive- the enormity of what could have been registers. No longer masked by the sickening panic of searching or the crushing weigh of fear, clarity finally settles over guilt. He feels like he's on that same stretch of road- facing a bloodstain, a beaten body and no hope. Magnus could've died. Might have. Should have- considering the extent of his injuries.

_It's all on you._

_It's your responsibility._

Alec slides down the wall, drawing his knees closer to his chest. His head throbs. When he closes his eyes all he can see is blood and glazed, golden eyes.

_Your responsibility._

X

The floor creaks as Jace makes his way across the hall in a route that has become excruciatingly familiar in the past hour.

"They'll be alright," Izzy tells him again. She is nestled in the corner across him, feet bare and hair a mess. There's blood on her shirt and a tremor to her laced hands.

"I know."

It doesn't ease either of them.

There's no sound from the room they guard. There hasn't been ever since Willa stopped chanting spells. She was the last number used on Magnus' phone, and Jace called it without thought. They were lucky. The witch arrived almost immediately, magic trailing after her in the form of smoke.

"We should've been able to talk to him."

Izzy doesn't bother lifting her gaze from her thorough inspection of the worn floorboards. "The witch said we shouldn't."

"I know what she said," Jace grumbles, spinning on his heel and heading to the other end of the short, narrow hall. Pacing. "I just think it's extremely _moronic_."

As soon as they got both Magnus and Alec into Magnus' apartment, Willa booted both Lightwood siblings out and locked the door. Then there were muffled spells and a noise- a whirling, awful noise like magic tearing open the air- but no one answered when Jace demanded to enter.

They waited.

"I want to see him too," Izzy murmurs softly. She tilts her head down until her expression is obscured by the tangle of her hair. There are too many shadows cloaking the subtle shift of muscle in her face to effectively asses how deep the worry lines are.

"He'll be alright," Jace throws her own words like an attack. He knows he might be lying and hates the uncertainty more than its cause. Hates that they haven't seen Alec yet, hates that he doesn't know what happened, hates that little, humorless laugh Izzy wheezes out.

"That's what I said," she tells him quietly. "It didn't seem to convince you, either."

The tone of her voice makes Jace stop dead in his tracks. He turns slowly and inspects the line of Izzy's shoulders, the whiteness of her knuckles. It's alarming.

Jace steps closer and squats down. His hands find their way to his sister's slim shoulders. "Iz," he mumbles, squeezing his hands lightly. "He's going to be fine."

She's shaking despite his efforts.

Despite the comforting hope and possible lie he's offering her ears, her heart.

She's silent and Jace doesn't know what to do to ease her fears. He barely knows how to contain his own hysteria flavored panic.

He settles for crowding her personal space and pulling her into his arms, pressing as tightly as he thinks an anchor should. They remain huddled together until a sudden noise breaks the silence, louder than the one Jace panicked over an hour ago. It sounds like the aftermath of an explosion. Both jump upright, almost knocking heads. They rush to the door. It's locked.

When there's no answer, they knock it down.

The room is empty. One of the walls is singed black, traces of red magic crackling by. Jace can recognize the smeared marks of a portal.

Alec, Magnus and the witch are gone.

* * *

**A/N: **So I owe you all a big, fat apology for taking so long with this chapter. I sincerely apologize for it. Life kinda sucks lately, and aside from not having had the time or the right state of mind to deal with writing, this chapter also happens to be a_ bitch_. It took me some time to figure out exactly how I want it, and I'm still not quite sure how I feel about the result.

Anyway, Willa's motive for turning into a pain in Malec's ass will become apparent later. What happened to Magnus and why Alec's imprisoned will also be revealed. Expect it might take some time though, I haven't even started on the next chapter yet- so it all depends on how much school and homework and tests are going to screw up with my free-time. On a brighter note- I do have an epilogue planned already (and by planned I mean I have stray lines of dialogue I'm fond of).

Also, remember the WIP contest I mentioned in the last chapter? _w__e won._ Imagine me jumping up and down, performing a silly victory dance, because that's how I reacted. So _a huge thank you_ for everyone who voted.

(Also, how was Christmas guys?)


	14. 13: Divided

**13: Divided**

The White Room is colder than Magnus ever expected it to be, and far more ridiculous than its name might imply- enough to be predictable in an entirely disheartening manner; it's quite the accomplishment.

Magnus lies on the plain, white cot staring at the plain, white ceiling nestled between white walls and white everything. He breathes in the white, gentle glow of the eerie healing energy and it _burns_. The unfamiliar magic hums in the space between white thoughts and apathy, occasionally stooping down to pet a stray glimmer of red hot pain. It takes a while Magnus can't measure to grow numb to the sensation, but when he does- time and thought both still.

All that's left is the white- a constant fixture in a universe that is all it. The bright nothing stings Magnus' eyes until they leak, but the sensation of tears hardly registers. He turns his gaze to stare at his own hands; they are the only trace of color in the room. With his clothes striped and replaced with a drab camouflage of _white, white, white_, Magnus feels himself fading. He imagines himself sinking into the sheets and past the floor.

Magnus knows where he must be: Washington's Gravity Hill, in some abandoned shack no mundane would look twice at. The Order's newest home-base after the fire in the Salem branch. Magnus has never been to the White Room in the previous branch but he imagines it must've looked much the same. Not many décor options for a room that's supposed to be distraction-free and maddening. He wonders if the rest of the building is somehow similar to the previous one. Magnus doesn't remember much of it, his first and sole lengthy visit being when he entered his coterie decades ago. And yet, the distinct impression of ancient furniture and ancient men leaves him hoping for a change.

There's a faint whisper, like a hushed exhale, and an old, cloaked man appears by one of the walls. His clothes are well-worn- dark with golden trimming- old school, wizard picturesque. The sudden presence of color makes Magnus' eyes burn and tear again. He stares at the man like a starved animal, taking in the dull grey color of his woolen cloak, the rich green of his vest, the darkness of his stare. The white of the walls, the white of _absolutely everything_, seems to glow around him.

"Magnus Bane," the man thunders. His voice cuts through the silence like a well-aimed arrow, piercing Magnus' ears until they ring. The words echo in Magnus' head long after they've been uttered, and when their remains finally fade- Magnus listens to the man's breathing. It's the only sound besides his own beating heart which he's already grown deaf to.

The man smiles as he takes in Magnus' hungry gaze. Magnus' eyes snap to the sudden movement. "You've been here a while," the man observes quietly, his assessment true and cold. "Have you healed?"

Magnus opens his mouth to answer but hesitates. Not because he doesn't know the answer, but because he has doubts he can voice it. The man looks at him expectantly, and tuts when the answer delays. He turns to leave.

"Yes," Magnus croaks before the man has the chance to fade away whence he came, leaving Magnus with nothing but white walls and white noise again.

The man twists his head to look at him. His expression shows cold disinterest, and for a skin-crawling brief moment Magnus remembers the Inquisitor. "Good," the man says.

Then he disappears.

x

Alec stares at the window all day long. The pale blue hardly changes, darkening slightly every so often with the shadow of a wandering cloud. It is hours before Alec gives up hope and rolls away from his strategic gazing point on the floor to move around the room again. The cell is small- seven steps wide, eleven long. The ceiling is high though, and Alec can't hope to reach the window even if he jumps. The walls are plain and smooth except for the runes inscribed onto their surface along the parameter, so there's nothing to help him climb.

He stalks the room like the caged animal he feels he's been succumbed to, barely holding back a frustrated groan.

Seven steps, turn, eleven, turn, seven, turn.

The cell is silent. The sky remains pale blue.

x

Sleep is elusive in the White Room, but the silence lulls Magnus into short boats of lucid dreams. The first is of last night- of pain and surprise and fear. The second is full of pleading blue eyes and hoarse calls Magnus can't make sense of. The third is a symbol- dark and beautiful- seared into pale flesh. Magnus slips out of each dream back to white and nothing, slipping in again not long after. It's a circle he doesn't know how to break and doesn't have enough energy to even try.

The dreams latch on to him fiercely, like perinea sensing blood. He lets them bite.

The man comes in again when the hoarse calls fade and the blue of concerned stares melts away. "Are you ready?" he asks.

Magnus doesn't know what he's referring to, but murmurs, "yes" anyway. He wants to get out.

The man eyes him quietly. "You are lying." He appears marginally disappointed with the truth in his own assessment. His eyes grow steadily darker as resignation soothes the harsh lines of his face.

The man disappears again. He comes in several times later- but he never seems to think Magnus is telling the truth.

x

The sky finally darkens. When it does, the glamoured door flickers visible long enough to allow a hand to push in a tray through a slate near the ground. It fades away before Alec opens his mouth to say something, _anything_.

There's a glass and a white, slightly cracked plate on the tray, with some alien, grey substance that Alec presumes to be food. He drinks the water from the glass. He eats the food; nothing can be worse than Izzy's attempt at ravioli. He waits until the door opens again.

When it does, he's as quick as a viper. He grasps the hand through the slate just as it withdraws back. "Why am I here?" Alec demands. It comes out rougher than he'd expected from himself.

"Eat your damn food, Lightwood," the man on the other side growls. His tone reminds Alec of those old, Shadowhunter families who used to throw baleful looks at his parents behind their backs. Some of them still do, only they don't bother hiding it anymore. "You pull this stunt again and I'll let you starve." And with that, Alec's hand is shaken off and the door disappears.

Alec doesn't get the chance to talk to the guard again. The door appears each time in a different wall, and the marks of concealment slowly litter the walls until Alec can't tell where it'll appear next. He thinks such a precaution is rather absurd. He doesn't even have a stele, and he can't incapacitate anyone through the tiny slate in the thick, metal door even if he really wants to.

Waiting for the guard proves futile. Two days in- Alec quits trying. Lunch comes in when he's asleep- so bored he drifts off- and with it comes a man.

The rustling of his robes and the sudden, looming presence wakes Alec up faster than any alarm-clock ever did. He jumps from the bed, quickly spinning on his hill until he is facing the intruder. His brain slowly catches up with his body and Alec find himself staring at a small, plump man in dark robes.

Alec recognizes him easily by his robes. The new Inquisitor.

The man puts the tray down on the floor and rubs his chubby hands with a satisfied smile. "Morning, my dear boy," he murmurs. His voice is surprisingly light, almost to the point of being grating- as if he's high on fairy dust. "So good of you to join me."

Alec shies away when the man takes a step forward. "I'm Inquisitor Eldertree," the man introduces himself, a smile pulling at his lips. It's a surprisingly unpleasant expression. "And you, my dear Alexander, are very lucky."

Alec has his doubts and it shows on his face. Eldertree grins wider. "Everything will be as it was again," he says, rolling the words on his tongue like sweets. "We can make you a model case. It will be marvelous."

"What are you talking about?" Alec finally asks. Eldertree's eyes light up like Christmas lights. He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

"You will make it so much easier to justify harshening the Downworlder policy."

Alec's heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?"

The Inquisitor claps his hands and rocks back and forth in place like a child. His eyes are sharp, dark and calculating. The smile attains a sudden cruel quality. "The mark you sport- it is prime example of why consorting with Downworlders is a terrible, terrible idea," the Inquisitor murmurs. "And when you're sentenced to exile- don't you look at me like that, Alexander, it would be a small miracle if you lived at all, given that-" The Inquisitor pauses abruptly, gesturing again. He must be talking about the mark. "-But it's all good now that we have you, isn't it? The Council would be forced to act." There's a pregnant, short silence before Eldertree says, with the same manic grin and light, airy tone: "The Downworlders will finally retain their rightful place at the bottom of the chain. We'll breathe easy again."

Alec reckons his breathing stopped somewhere between 'exile' and 'bottom of the chain'. Eldertree doesn't seem to notice. "Won't you help me with that, boy?" he doesn't quite ask. Settling on the small, plain bed at the center of the room the Inquisitor continues, "Your family won't suffer should you assist me willingly. I might even hush up the whole affair- no one will know where you've gone to, no shame befalling the already tainted Lightwood name. You'd like that, won't you?"

Eldertree looks as him as if he's got Alec all figured out and neatly sorted into a drawer labeled 'mine'. Alec straightens his posture and makes sure his voice is steady when he barks out, "No."

Eldertree frowns as if he didn't realize such a response was at all possible. "No?" he asks, lips curling. He doesn't seem to be the sort of man who can stomach refusal. "I don't believe you have a choice here, Alexander," he ventures, almost pleasantly.

Alec gives him an unimpressed look. "I'm not selling him out," he tells the Inquisitor simply.

It takes realization a moment to settle on Eldertree's face- but when it finally does- fury quickly follows. "Quit the silly loyalty. You can't possibly care for a demon."

There's no point telling Eldertree Downworlders aren't demons. The harsh lines on his soft, oval face suggest he would never listen. "Watch me," Alec says instead.

"I can arrange for a harsher sentence, Alexander. I don't imagine you fancy dying so young."

Alec narrows his eyes, bristling. "You'd kill a fellow Shadowhunter?"

Eldertree's lips twist. "You're not a Shadowhunter anymore," he tells Alec, his voice reminiscent of the late Inquisitor before him. "You're a Downworlder's pet. We have no use for you."

"Then you'll kill me either way." The words leave a bitter taste in Alec's mouth. His breathing echoes in between waves of nausea.

The Inquisitor appears briefly impressed with Alec's deduction. Then the mask settles back in and his voice drips sugar and lies when he says, "Quid pro quo, my boy. Help me help you."

Alec snorts.

Eldertree waits a moment for him to quake. Alec doesn't, so Eldertree opts for another angle. "Your family," the Inquisitor reminds him. Alec's eyes narrow further. Eldertree seizes the opportunity to bite. "What would become of them if you die?"

"They'll survive," Alec grits out. He viciously ignores the hollowness the words leave behind. He figures holding his ground is the only way against a man like Eldertree. It's his only way to win.

The Inquisitor smiles. Alec's stomach drops at his expression. "I'm sure you're no great loss," Eldertree murmurs, "however there is plenty to judge your family for. I'm sure that if prompted I can find something to present the council with." Eldertree's eyes glim like steel. "Your parents were in the Circle. Your brother is Valentine's son. What if the Council discovers they've adopted and raised young Jonathan as a favor to Valentine? What if it becomes apparent they never left his service and have been raising a traitor to stab us all in the back?"

"They did no such thing!" Alec's voice escalates quickly. "Jace isn't a- he's not a traitor. He hates Valentine. And so do my parents."

The smile is back on Eldertree's face, twice as vile. "I'm sure you think so, my boy. I'm sure you do. But unfortunately, the circumstances show otherwise, as will my personal testimony and that of a select few. The Council would see the truth then. Would you like to risk that?" Eldertree pauses to examine the effect his words have had on Alec. Apparently satisfied with the expression on Alec's face, he murmurs, "As I thought. I will come to collect you in three days. Prepare your tale as you would like to present it, but do consider what's at stake."

Eldertree heads to the door, but before he departs he turns back and murmurs, "Blood is thicker than water, Alexander. Let the Downworlder have what's coming to him."

The door shuts behind the Inquisitor's back and the glamour settles in.

x

"Are you ready?" the man in the dark robes asks. That's all he appears to be able to do. Magnus stares at his hands- _not white_, trembling- and breathes, slowly. His head is clear. The air comes easy. Words don't.

The man waits. Magnus rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling. There are no shadows by the corners, no rough patch of color, no texture to focus on. Pure and whole, large enough to swallow him entirely. Magnus just stares. He doesn't try to look for anything anymore.

The man is gone.

Magnus' eyes remain fixed on the ceiling.

x

The sky keeps changing colors if you look at it long enough through narrowed eyes, unblinking. Alec stares up at the window from his corner on the floor and sees _red_. It reminds him of Magnus' blood and the battle on the ship, of every fight he ever had with Jace and every demon he ever had to face. It makes him think of his first kill and bloody sunsets in the forest outside Alicante's walls.

He wonders if he'll ever see the sunset again. If the price of it is even worth it.

The first time Magnus wakes, truly and completely, the world attacks his eyes like a vicious cat. Color- rich, brilliant, vivid _color_- burns his retinas in a spectacle like fireworks and schizophrenia spiced with gin. Magnus' eyes begin to tear. For a brief, terrifying moment, Magnus wonders whether it's a dream.

"Welcome back," a voice tells him. It doesn't dispel the fear. Magnus turns to the source and sees the thin silhouette of a woman, branches sprouting from her scalp like medusa's snakes. "You've been in the White Room longer than I've anticipated."

Magnus croaks something incomprehensible. Willa comes closer and as she leaves the light her face becomes visible, yellow sunlight smudged like paint across her face. "You're safe," she tells him. "You're with the Order. They won't get you."

It takes Magnus a moment to realize what Willa's on about. When he finally does, a laugh escapes him. He hadn't thought of how he'd gotten here at all since he woke up surrounded by nothing. The laugh stops as abruptly as it's started when memories finally sink in. Then he remembers the dreams. The dreams and Robert Lightwood and pain. He recalls the brilliance of concern, blue-washed. Memories flood him as if a dam has been breached by the sudden absence of white, healer magic. "Where's Alec?" Magnus asks, even though there's no logical reason for him to be there or for Magnus to be concerned. Magnus has seen him last when he left the house that night, before Robert Lightwood and before the presence of white. Alec should be back where he left him, unharmed. He probably doesn't even know about any of this.

"In Alicante," Willa says. Magnus stares at her.

"What?"

"He'll be going through trial," Willa continues as if she hadn't noticed the note of alarm in Magnus' tone. "The Inquisitor assured me that-"

"You have _handed him over_?" Magnus gets up too quickly. He sways a tad, face pale, yet his looming presence retains its charms. Willa takes a step back and tilts her head to look him in the eye. "I did it for you."

"You did it for yourself," Magnus snaps. For a fleeting moment he imagines he sees remorse in Willa's eyes. It's all the confirmation he needs. "This is not the way I expected you to pay your debt."

"Life for life," Willa murmurs. Her face darkens quickly. "I believe it's only appropriate."

Magnus bristles. "You surrendered Alec to the Clave thinking it's 'only appropriate'?"

The muscles in Willa's jaw shift subtly. Her mouth becomes a thin line as she murmurs, voice clipped, "He's not the one I am indebted to. The sacrifice was necessary."

Magnus' lips curl in disgust, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth. "It wasn't your call," he snarls.

"It wasn't your call in Pendle, either," Willa throws back. Her eyes are wild but her posture remains as stiff and controlled as her voice no longer is. "You could've saved my sister."

"I was able to save only one of you. You were younger, you haven't lived yet. You were the obvious choice."

"And between you dying by the Clave's hand and you losing your rank, I chose to sacrifice the boy, a fleeting fascination though he may be." Willa's eyes narrow as she spits back at him, "It was the obvious choice."

Magnus takes a slow, deep breath through the nose before saying, his voice dangerously low, "Pendle was a mistake. I shouldn't have bothered."

"You shouldn't have," Willa agrees. "But you did. And I owed you for it."

She turns on her heel. The light streaming from the window draws bright, silver contours over her silhouette. She trembles slightly and the few remaining leaves on her head rustle softly. Magnus glares at her back.

"You know he's more than a fleeting fascination. _You know_."

"I do," she says without turning her head. He can't see her eyes.

"Then why?"

"Because it was my only shot at freedom." She turns to face him one last time. Her eyes are as right as her sudden smile. "And my freedom matters far more than his."

x

Eldertree returns to the cells, timely as promised. His eyes are dark and hungry. He looks at Alec the way a cat eyes an unsuspecting pigeon, inching closer. "Have you decided?"

Alec nods, slowly. A grin breaks on the Inquisitor's face. "Wonderful," he croons. "The trial shall take place this afternoon."

Alec nods again. His hair falls into his face, hiding his eyes. He hears the Inquisitor rubbing his palms together. There's a gleeful huff before the man murmurs, "remember your family, Alexander."

Alec snorts but doesn't lift his head. The Inquisitor huffs again- this time apparently displeased- and hauls Alec up on his feet. He drags him to the glamoured door and knocks on it five times in a strange rhythm. It swings open soundlessly. The hall beyond it is narrow and long, doors on each side. Alec is reluctant to leave the comfort of his own cage, but the Inquisitor's hand on his arm leaves him little choice. They march through the hallways, turning often enough for Alec to forget where they originally came from. They stop before a plain door, dark brown wood with a small silver handle just like the rest.

Eldertree opens the door with his stele. His hand steers Alec inside. "You're to remain here," he instructs. "Think."

The door swings shut behind him.

The room is bare save for a chair in the middle. Alec sits, and waits.

x

After Willa leaves the man returns. He gives Magnus a quick, assessing glance. He doesn't say anything- doesn't ask if he's ready yet. He just nods, curtly, and doesn't shut the door when he exits. Magnus follows.

As they make their way to the center of the current branch Magnus' stomach knots. "How many will be present?" he asks.

"Twenty-three."

Magnus carefully maintains his stride, though his first instinct is to halt. "Full-house?"

The man moves his shoulders minutely, hardly a shrug but close in intent. "It's an unusual case," the man explains, tone bleak and slightly bored. "You will find many came here out of sheer curiosity rather than profound concern for your fate."

"Shocking."

"Not at all."

They round a corner. There's no door to the grand hall, just wood, arching from the hallway up all the way to the arched ceiling. A large oculus at the top lets in a single, wide beam of midday sun. It falls across a spacious, wooden chair with armrests and leather-straps. Magnus knows who it's meant for. He steers toward it without being prompted.

The crowd steers as he enters their line of sight. Silence falls; Magnus' heels tap oh so terribly loudly on the wooden floor. The men and women seated around him in a perfect circle follow his movement with hungry eyes. He settles. The straps bind his wrists with a single snap of his guide's fingers.

"Magnus Bane," a woman greets him as she steps forward from her place to Magnus' right. Her skin is dark and her posture is regal. She holds herself tall and formidable, like a wolf at the head of its pack. Magnus can't help but feel like a deer, surrounded by predators.

He schools his features and stares at the woman coolly. Animals react to fear.

"I am the Head of the Order," the woman introduces herself. Magnus doesn't remember her. The head used to be a wrinkly man with ice for eyes. "And I will be the one to conduct the questioning in this trial."

Magnus waits. She doesn't offer her name. Instead, she takes the only chair within the circle apart from his. It has a wide frame and is made of heavy wood, designed like a throne with lion paws for legs. Sitted, the woman turns to eye Magnus with unnerving calm. "We shall begin."

The crowd cries back, "Begin!" and the hall is suddenly plunged into darkness. The only light is that directly on Magnus' chair.

"Are you aware of the accusations made against you?" he hears the voice of the woman across from him, but he can't see anything but the vicious glim of her eyes.

"No," Magnus replies. Someone in the crowd snorts. Magnus ignores them.

The woman's voice echoes in the hall, reciting a list in the martyred tones of the exceptionally bored. 'Illegal bonding', 'violation of the Accords, clause seventeen' and 'exploitation of the resources given to you in accordance to you rank' are a few that stick to mind.

When she's done, another voice asks, "Is that clear?". The tone is harsh. Magnus nods.

"Crystal."

"What is your plea?"

Twenty-three warlocks and witches still their breath as Magnus weighs his words. The air fills with anticipation and the sort of ferocious thrill one gets from watching others plummeting down, like rocket shooters, pushed forwards solely by their own idiocy.

Magnus makes up his mind quicker than customary. He opens his mouth to speak. The crowd draws in an excited breath. He can feel their eyes on his skin, prickling like an array of a thousand miniature daggers. They want him to plummet.

"Guilty."

His fall echoes in the sudden, surprised exhale of twenty-three mouths. Somehow, they all appear disappointed.

"Are you aware that by admitting thus, the council may choose to forego this trial?"

"Yes."

There's another hiss of disappointment from the crowd. Magnus has a hard time believing they will give up on the show.

They don't. The vote on whether they should continue with his trial or not goes as expected- twenty three to none in favor of watching Magnus sit on the chair for another fortnight, pretending to fight off accusations he accepts. Magnus hopes they'll find the show boring quickly.

They don't.

* * *

Sorry about the delay (and by delay I mean _too damn long, what the hell was I thinking_). RL's been crazy-busy and I'm a lazy bum. That's my excuse for taking so (too) long to get on with this chapter. On the bright side- it's finally here, and everyone's still in one piece! (ain't that an accomplishment?) _  
_

(guys are any of you on tumblr?)


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